Twin Tailspins
by BravoExpressions
Summary: Sequel to 'Empty Arms.' A highly paranoid Mary is faced with the challenge of trying to carry twins to full term, balancing the case of a witness very close to her heart, and planning her future with Marshall. T for mild language.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hello friends! I don't know if you're as happy to see me as I am to see you, but here I am nonetheless! It has been a difficult two months trying to crank out another fan-fiction, but good, bad, or indifferent, here is the result right in front of you. I have to admit that there are several things about this sequel – that I was just dying to write, by the way – that makes it different from my other stories.**

**First of all, it is far and away the longest fan-fiction I've ever written, not just by the number of chapters, but by the length of the chapters themselves. They start out between five and seven pages, but don't be surprised later on if they venture into ten. It was a story that really got away from me; I had no idea it was going to be so extensive, but it got out-of-control! Secondly, I do not 'know' this story as well. Usually, before I've posted, I have read and reread the chapters a ton of times. I think, due to how long it got, I didn't spend as much time going back over what I'd already written, so the author's notes on this go-around might not be as detailed! Also, I've not had a story where I feel like I tried to tie so many plots together; I hope I do it with style!**

**All of this is not to say this is going to be some great masterpiece – in fact, I'm actually concerned because it took me such a long time to write that it became forced or repetitive along the way. But, I'll close down the chatter and get down to business. This takes place just over a year after Mary has lost Jamie, and if you remember the epilogue of 'Empty Arms' she found out in April that she was expecting twins! It is now July and her and Marshall are rocking and rolling between their personal and WITSEC lives. Let's hope this first chapter grabs your attention!**

XXX

Mary was freezing and thoroughly enjoying it. Every few seconds, she ascertained that taut and balmy stuffiness floating on the surrounding air, thick and suffocating. The sort of humidity that only penetrated in this, the very middle of a roasting July. Despite the deep, palpable summer's breeze that forever lingered in the confines of her home, the air conditioner still managed to penetrate its blasting iciness onto Mary's ever-expanding form.

Standing in the bathroom at three in the morning, after having gotten up to pee for what felt like the tenth time, she splashed cold water on her face before returning to her bed. Goosebumps were rising on her clammy skin, but she cared very little. Her cheeks blazed all the time these days; she could never get away from the hot weather completely. Nonetheless, having the vents on far past their maximum capacity did help. Sometimes, Mary wondered why she didn't simply strip her bed of all its sheets and blankets until September.

By the dim light of the bulb above her head, she examined herself briefly in the mirror over the sink, knowing full well she ought to go back to bed, thinking of the scolding Marshall would give her for being on her feet too long. Staring back at her was a face that did not entirely seem like her own, but the clues were there regardless.

Her cheeks were pudgy and round. If tempted, one could likely take great fistfuls in their fingers and pinch adoringly, not that Mary would ever let that happen. Her honey-colored hair was rather lank, after having been slept on, and a glance downward showed fingers the size of overstuffed sausages. Her toes resembled similar links of meat.

But, the real kicker was her midsection. Enormously rotund at almost exactly thirty-two weeks gestation, she resembled something along the lines of a perfectly inflated beach ball. Well, not exactly perfect. Spherical, she was not. She was lumpy, chubby, fat – you name it. If she hadn't been pregnant, she'd have been morbidly obese. Still, despite her unsightly appearance, there were hints to the fact that she was with child. Or, with children.

In pockets of Mary's belly were shapes – a head here, a butt there. Who could tell the difference, especially when there were two of them floating around within? At the moment, her son and daughter were entirely too active for three in the morning, even if their mother was the one getting them up before the sun.

Dispensing with the cold water on her already shiny face, Mary flicked the faucet off just in time to hear the front door open and close. Less intrigued and more elated, she crept to the closed door and listened carefully. She'd known there was a reason she'd been having trouble sleeping, apart from her squashed bladder.

It had been two weeks. A long, agonizing two weeks where Marshall was away on assignment booking a new witness out in Wyoming; prepping him, grooming him, before traveling safely with him across the border to life in Albuquerque. And now, her man had returned long before six o'clock, as he'd predicted.

Grinning in spite of herself, Mary lingered in the bathroom, listening to Marshall tiptoe around beyond the bedroom door, clearly thinking she'd be asleep. She waited, feeling stealth-like, while Beatrix slunk in through the crack in the hatch, winding herself around her master's ankles. She rubbed against Mary's swollen feet, purring and arching her back, which showed off her haphazard grey stripes.

Footsteps sounded in the hall and Mary killed the lights in the bathroom, thinking she'd give Marshall something of a surprise homecoming, knowing he'd expect her to be in bed. She peered one, mysterious green eye out the sliver of door, watching his shadow stumble around near the bed.

Beatrix began to mew when Mary wouldn't pay her any attention, and so she nudged her with her foot, refraining from reprimanding the cat out loud. Beatrix, however, remained unsatisfied and sauntered back through the door, making it creak. The sound clearly alerted Marshall, who resigned himself to having to turn a lamp on. Mary continued to watch, marveling at him trying to get both shoes off in the dark.

He was met with an empty bed, albeit with rumpled covers, when illumination swept the room. He took pause, and then noticed Beatrix looking deprived and sullen on the floor.

"Well, hello," he remarked placidly. Mary saw him bend over and scratch her ears, "Where's your mistress?"

Mary only had a moment to chew over the tackiness of the word 'mistress' before Marshall put two and two together, having heard the squeak of the hinges when Beatrix had emerged. His bright blue eyes, unusually weary with tiredness, scanned the bathroom door. Although Mary could only make out half his face, she was delighted by the grin that lit upon it, finding her hiding place at last.

"Ah…playing coy are we?" he assumed, taking a seat on the bed and unlacing his sneakers. He didn't romance for long, "You should be in bed, inspector," she ought to have known he'd jump straight to doting.

"Two weeks you don't see me and all you're worried about is my stupid health?" Mary snarked appropriately.

"Don't you love how she thinks she can fool me?" Marshall addressed Beatrix, who had leapt onto the mattress beside him. "That she thinks I don't know she worries herself to pieces over little Frick and Frack?" their affectionate names for their unborn children.

"You're the one talking to a cat, Poindexter," still secluded behind the door, only one lid showing.

He resumed, "And she thinks I don't know she engages in _that_ sort of behavior too."

In truth, Mary did spend far too much time rambling to Beatrix, but she was through with their games, even having been the one who had started it. Two weeks was an eternity. She didn't see herself containing her enthusiasm at seeing Marshall any longer. Swinging the door open, she waltzed – well, waddled – out into the bedroom to a genuine smile from her partner, tossing his shoes to the carpet.

"You're early," Mary commented, dropping all pretense. "I didn't expect you until morning."

"It is morning," Marshall informed her in his usual smart ass way. "Has been for about three hours, give or take," he glanced at his watch.

Mary opted to let that one go, Marshall standing once more to greet her properly. He certainly didn't disappoint. To many wounded looks from the cat, he shook his head and gazed at her admiringly, clearly relishing the moment he could take her in his arms and plant one on her.

"God, I've missed you…" he breathed in a hushed voice. "Jesus. Fourteen days is too long. Never again; I'm telling Stan in the morning…"

He was slinking closer and closer.

"You said it _is_ morning," Mary rebutted condescendingly, but they were past that now.

"Oh, shut up…" Marshall waved her off.

And without further ado, he took her into his arms, pulling her protruding form into his embrace as well as she would fit, kissing her long and hard on the mouth. Mary was the one to slope her fingers through his unkempt hair, soaking him in, pressed so tightly chest-to-chest it hurt in the most fantastic way possible.

Even when she tried to pull away to catch her breath, he hung on a second longer before ultimately deciding to let her go. It was only then, when she was cradled in his long arms and staring up into his handsome face, that he seemed to truly take in her appearance.

Undoubtedly still light-headed from their kiss, he blurted out the first thought that came to mind.

"Good golly," his eyes were on her enormous stomach.

Mary would've stuck a hand on her hip if she were able, "What?" settling for wrinkling her nose.

The dizzy feeling seemed to persist, because additional truths came to the forefront from a usually tactful Marshall.

"You're huge," he stated baldly. "When I left two weeks ago you weren't anywhere near this size…"

"Seriously?" Mary was surprised and a little amused at his frankness. "I'm carrying _your_ kids around in my uterus, where they're taking up space and knocking on my organs and sending all the water I possess to every nook and cranny of my body and you're going to talk about my weight?" she raised an eyebrow. "Don't even get me started on the way the pair of them are making me barf my guts up every few days."

His enchantment faltered at this, "Still?" to be replaced by concern.

"Don't get your panties in a wad," Mary requested, compressing herself further into his grasp. "I talked to Doctor Reese last week. She said I'm fine."

"Sorry…" he came to a little better, smirking sheepishly and shaking his head. "I guess since you're sneaking up on eight months now, I should expect you to look like…" he shrugged. "Well, like you're harboring two babies."

"Damn straight, doofus," she poked a finger into his chest, not really irked by his comments. She herself had been rather in awe of how fast she was suddenly putting on the pounds, but after fourteen days apart, she did imagine Marshall had gotten a shock when it came to her vastness. "Little runts. They're chewing me up from the inside out."

"You really are…" Marshall ran a tentative hand over the most defined bulge, about to say 'growing' but Mary beat him to the punch.

"Looking like the Titanic? Globular? A hippopotamus? An elephant? The next Humpty Dumpty?"

He laughed, realizing his mistake a second time, "No." He was able to cover quickly, "I just missed you. You _and_ Frick and Frack," he gave the bump a satisfying pat and backed away.

"Well, I'll let you off the hook…" Mary took pity and hit him lightly in the chest before indicating that Marshall should join her on the bed. "_This_ time," she added playfully. "Since you're tired and all."

"My overworked brain thanks you deeply," Marshall sighed, looking as though he had died and gone to heaven at the sight of the inviting mattress heaped with Mary's sweaty sheets and blankets.

With that, he fell back-first onto the bed with an mammoth sigh, reminiscent of many of Mary's exhausted-pregnant-ones. She watched him for a moment; watched him close his eyes and run a hand over them, savoring the downy fluff and the ability to rest his lids and feet from their endless push on the gas pedal. Mary had the strong suspicion he would fall asleep in his clothes.

"So…" he finally vocalized with his eyes still shut while Mary swung herself in beside him, the springs making a precarious creak. "How are you feeling? Really," disregarding her spiel from two minutes before.

Mary waited until he gathered enough strength to face her again. When he did, his eyes were dusted and dewy with tiredness, but still their brilliant shade of blue. He looked strangely lopsided sprawled on his side, head not even touching his pillow. Mary towered over him from where she leaned against the headboard.

"I'm fine," she gave her stock response, resting careful fingers atop her swollen belly where they so effortlessly seemed to reside these days.

"That 'really' I concluded with was supposed to indicate that I expect a truthful response," Marshall explained, intellectual even in his fatigue.

"You'd better watch yourself if you make a habit of calling me a liar," Mary rebutted, shamelessly stalling for time.

"Look, as you said…" another sigh. "I'm tired. I would appreciate the rundown of symptoms in an orderly fashion so I can catch a few winks before dawn."

Mary took her turn at exhaling, taking to drumming her nails on her paunch. She felt a foot wiggle past the ridge where her pajama pants were squeezed tight around her nonexistent waistline. She could feel the wave it made, and wondered whether it was her son or daughter that was up in the wee hours of the night.

"Marshall, I'm really fine," she tried again. "I talked to you every day you were in Wyoming and Jinx or Brandi popped in on me _every_ fourteen days," she emphasized with a grim smile. "Like I'm sure you paid them to do."

"I won't say money changed hands," Marshall said without any defense whatsoever. "But bribes may have been involved nonetheless."

"Whatever," she waved this aside with her free hand. "You really think I wouldn't have called you if there'd been an emergency of some kind? As you already so charmingly pointed out, the kids stayed where they were supposed to," pointing her index finger at the round.

Marshall, even in his stupor, seemed to be warming to the idea that Mary had held up fairly well in his absence. She wasn't being entirely deceitful. She'd felt as well as she ever did carrying two babies. Her feet constantly ached and her hands had gotten so swollen she could no longer punch the stapler at the office. She felt slower and heavier with each passing day, but aside from the occasional bouts of food that didn't agree with her, she was tip-top.

"So, everything's status quo?" Marshall finally inquired while Beatrix began to slink between their two reclined bodies, looking for the warm spot she'd left behind when Mary had retreated to the bathroom. "At least tell me if you've been sick. You mentioned that…"

His voice trailed off and Mary picked up the thread, "A few times, yes," she shook her head as though to ward off the idea. "But, it is hardly earth-shattering, Marshall. Brandi brought me sushi for dinner last Thursday and it was a long night. I concede."

Her man wrinkled his nose expertly, "The taste of raw fish coming back up one's gullet cannot be a pleasant experience."

"At least you know that much, Sherlock."

A momentary, comfortable silence fell as the clock inched its way toward 3:30. Beatrix settled down and nudged her head next to Mary's belly, blinking her eyes closed and beginning to purr against the mountain that was her master's stomach. Marshall didn't allow the quiet to envelope them for long, however.

With a wide yawn and an automatic scratch of Beatrix's ears, "Did you know it feels rather like the arctic in here?" he asked casually. "I think I saw some icicles forming on the coffee table on my way in."

There were indeed goose bumps all over his arms, but he was obviously too sleepy to try and warm up. Mary gave a sardonic, superior chuckle at his words.

"Smart ass," she accused. "It's seven hundred degrees outside. When _you_ start carrying around fifty extra pounds in July, _you_ can be in charge of the thermostat."

She also closed her eyes and, even in his effort to stay awake, felt Marshall take her hand. This was a telltale sign he was close to nodding off, whatever his attempts at fighting sleep. In the back of her mind, Mary knew he was doing it because he'd missed her; because he wanted to relish their first moments alone together in a very long two weeks.

She couldn't help noticing that his fourth finger, locked within hers, was bare and band-less, as was her own. While they'd discussed getting married, neither one of them were overly concerned with being official. As Marshall said, if the timing presented itself, they could go ahead with something civil. Otherwise, they were set as significant others.

As it was, he ignored her comment about the temperature and Mary only heard him through the shadows; shades drawn in front of her eyes.

"Busy day tomorrow?" he drawled lethargically.

"Mmm…" Mary nodded, also feeling exhaustion taking her into her subconscious. "I've gotta meet with Tripp Sullivan first thing in the morning…"

"'Bout what?" Marshall asked, though even in the darkness Mary did not think he sounded interested.

"I don't know," she answered honestly, knowing she should not go to sleep sitting up; her ailing back wouldn't thank her for it the next day. "He said it was urgent, but not an emergency. Find out tomorrow…"

"Okay…"

Even as she reminded herself of her creaky body, Mary made no effort to move from her half-reclined position, at peace with Beatrix against her belly and Marshall's fingers in her own. They should turn the lights out. She should let Marshall put on pajamas. And even as she thought all these things, she knew neither one of them were moving until morning.

"Go to sleep…" she suggested with a squeeze in his palm. "We'll catch up in the morning."

She fully expected another, 'okay' to follow, and forced herself to open her eyes when she got no response. She grinned softly seeing that Marshall had rolled onto his side, facing her and the cat. He was seconds away from going under, fingers limp inside hers, his other hand fallen slack on Beatrix's fur. Even half-conscious, she found him flawless.

"Goodnight…" Mary whispered, somewhat amused at how fast he'd succumbed.

But, it was her voice a second time that jarred him into life for a brief moment. His eyes remained closed, hiding their gorgeous sky blue, but she both felt and saw him hitch at the sound of her tone.

"I really missed you…" he promised in a drone, showing her his need for rest was nothing personal.

Mary grinned and gave his hand another nudge with hers, "Yeah, I guess I mourned not having my little walking dictionary around for two weeks. _What_ a tragedy."

Marshall recognized the sarcasm and gave a final compress before losing himself in pregnant women, cats, freezers, and clammy sheets.

"That's my girl."

XXX

**A/N: It is definitely fluff to begin, but it should pick up in a hurry! I can't tell you how great it is to be back. I must apologize because I have been woefully inept at reviewing other stories lately; I get in my little writing cloud and don't come up for air sometimes. I hope you'll forgive me my lame excuses, and I hope you enjoyed the beginning!**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: You all truly outdid yourself on the first round of reviews. I mean it when I say that I don't know where I'd be without your support. A little goes such a long way, and I thank-you.**

XXX

As Mary had begun clearing the finish line toward the eighth month of her pregnancy with the twins, she'd started to notice a trend when she woke each morning. She could often tell even before setting foot on the floor whether she was going to feel energized or sluggish. If the spirited trickle ran through her veins, she would roll from bed and waddle off to the bathroom to start to the day. If a slothful sensation presented itself, she had to be far more cautious and this, in and of itself, made her anxious.

Her feet would feel extremely pinched on those mornings, perhaps incapable of fitting into her preferred pair of boots. Her belly would be cramped and tight, balling uncomfortably against her intestines while the kids constantly switched positions. Her back would be throbbing, convincing her the muscles in her spine might be cracking. It was on these days that Mary had to force herself to defer to Marshall – to help her determine if going into work was an option, or if staying home was safer.

Despite her chagrin about cutting back at the office, Mary was bound and determined to follow the rules of pregnancy to the letter. After Jamie, she took absolutely no chances. Knowing the potential for danger skyrocketed by carrying two kids at age forty-one, she was extra careful.

Fortunately, on this steamy Monday, Mary was boosted to find that she woke with a sense of readiness. Aside from the usual twinges – twinges she had to learn early on were not a death sentence – she felt raring to go. Marshall, on the other hand, was another story. He trailed rather drunkenly after her through the double doors at the Sunshine Building, downing coffee in hopes of staying awake long enough to get started.

He plopped into his computer chair and booted the mechanism with only half his usual focus while Mary, smirking, lumbered to her own desk to start the day. She was expecting Tripp before he had to head to class for the afternoon, but it was Stan whom she met first.

He strolled out of his office with his hands in his pockets, already having dispensed with his jacket due to warmth. He had his shirt sleeves rolled up and his evergreen tie was loose at the neck.

"Good morning inspectors!" he sang merrily.

Marshall gave an indistinguishable grunt reminiscent of Mary while the woman merely grinned.

"Hi…" she responded for her man, shaking her head at what a lightweight he was. Both of them were going to have to learn to function on less sleep. "One of us hit the snooze button a few too many times," she jerked her head at Marshall.

"Ah…" Stan nodded understandingly. "Short night?" he inquired with a slightly raised voice so Marshall would hear across the room.

"Mmm…" Marshall hummed through another mouthful of coffee. "I got in around three. But, I'll be all right; just need to pick up my second wind," he assured the boss.

Stan ignored this for the most part, knowing Marshall would indeed come around and get the work done once he got the dust out of his eyes. Turning to Mary, he splayed his hands on her desktop while she rooted amongst a heap for Tripp's file in case she needed it.

"How are you feeling today?" he asked casually.

"Fine," Mary responded automatically, having become accustomed to this question. It was easier to simply answer and shove the snark aside if she wanted to get anything done. "Typical aches and pains. Nothing bad."

"Good-good," Stan nodded his approval. He always became nervous when Mary had an off day. She wondered if he harbored a secret terror that the twins would be born on the floor of the office. "Do you have a full schedule?"

"Tripp Sullivan," she waggled the file once she found it. "Depending on what he wants, I may finish up some paperwork once he's through and head out for lunch. Jinx has been hounding me to talk about nursery designs," she poked a finger down her throat. "What she thinks works for both a boy _and_ a girl is a mystery to me."

Stan spared her a quick smile, "Sounds like a plan," he approved. "Just make sure your partner here doesn't fall asleep at the wheel," he quipped none-too-discreetly.

Mary glanced to Marshall once more. He was in danger of tipping his Styrofoam cup of coffee over his keyboard.

"I'll do my best," she laughed sarcastically.

Stan chortled as well and slapped the desk once before retreating back to his office, undoubtedly to start tending to his own busy day. Delia wasn't in yet, or else she was out with a witness. She had gotten more field time and was partnering Marshall temporarily while Mary was with child. Mary herself had no idea what her and Marshall were going to wrangle once the babies arrived, but at least Stan had managed to smooth their partnership over with D.C. despite their being an item.

Mary took five minutes to give Tripp's file the once-over, but he had always been a model witness. His mother was another story, but Maureen had always managed to abide by the legalities of WITSEC, even though she engaged in plenty Mary would've loved to bust her for regardless.

When she glanced up again, Marshall had gotten down to business, although with the distinct air of autonomy. His brain was clearly asleep.

"You want some Red Bull or whatever the hell that crap is called?" Mary called across the room to get his attention. "You know it's just liquidated sugar. I'm sure it would give you a nice energy boost."

"Put me into caffeinated shock, more like," Marshall assumed. "Although, the beverage does contain taurine and glucuronolactone, which is present in much poultry and fish…" he droned on, Mary thought perhaps as a reflex. He did not seem to realize he was getting off-track. "Nonetheless," he concluded at random. "I'm coming around," even as he rubbed one of his eyes with his index finger.

"I'd tell you to take the afternoon to nap, but I've got the Jinx thing…" she worked not to sound especially sorry; to make him jealous.

"I appreciate your devotion to your mother, even when it comes at my expense," Marshall proclaimed nobly. "Let me know what she has in the way of nursery ideas."

"Ugh," Mary snorted, much as she had with Stan, laying Tripp's file on her keyboard. "I don't see why we need to have a theme. Nothing in the infant world is unisex, and I already told you I am not painting that room green or yellow…"

"It doesn't have to be a theme," Marshall reminded her, running a hand over his cheek where he hadn't shaved very thoroughly that morning. "It simply needs to be designed so that it matches; so that it looks pleasing to the eye…"

"Yeah-yeah," his woman grumbled. "Honestly, you should be the one picking out crib liners and pacifiers."

"Don't think I wouldn't," Marshall declared. "The women shouldn't have all the fun," he managed a wink.

"Well, we've had this discussion," she muttered, now sifting through the mass on her desk to find a pen to take to the conference room. "We'll have to teach the kids early that in spite of being 'daddy' you are _still_ the girl in this relationship."

Regardless of people's constant reference to 'the babies' Mary and Marshall refused to call them as such. Marshall had started donning them that way, but Mary had quickly told him he was to cut it out. They were now either 'the kids' or 'Frick and Frack.' She didn't know why, but she thought 'the babies' made them sound fragile or vulnerable. She never wanted to have those feelings.

"A real man never had an issue getting in touch with his feminine side," was Marshall's response to her claim about their roles in their union.

Mary grinned; unearthing a pen she hoped wasn't out of ink just as her cell started buzzing. She almost didn't hear it, as she'd neglected to take it out of her tote, but rolled her chair to the edge of her desk to fish it out. She wasn't all together surprised to see Tripp's name on the display.

"Hey Tripp," she greeted him swiftly, tucking her hair behind her ears when she straightened after leaning over. She felt a distinct crick in her back at the motion, but ignored it. "You on your way? Running late?"

"I'm here already," he said shortly. "Can you buzz me up?"

Mary was taken aback, thinking he sounded rather flippant and irritated, not a color Tripp typically displayed since leaving his rocky high school years behind him.

Glimpsing her watch, "Early then," it was not even nine o'clock yet. Leaving aside his frivolous attitude, "Yeah, I'll call the guard in the lobby and tell them to unlock the doors."

"Thanks."

Mary hung up, still slightly bewildered, and after making the required call to the front desk, turned back to Marshall to inform him of her charge's dismissive manner.

"Tripp?" he questioned before she could get started, raising his eyes from where he was scribbling on a form.

"Yeah…" she cast her phone aside and blew out slowly, trying to prepare herself for whatever was coming. "Sounded kind of harried. If he's in a mood, he picked the wrong girl."

"Hell hath no fury like a pregnant woman before noon," Marshall intoned, sounding more like himself.

Mary laughed against her will, not expecting anything particularly difficult from Tripp. She had to help him out of knots every now and then when Maureen posed a problem, but it was never anything earth-shattering. He'd matured into a very responsible young man, practically taking over the role of raising Billy and Gretel.

Before she was ready for it, she heard the sharp, rapping knock on the glass. Tripp always forgot there was a bell to ring, but fortunately Marshall heard it too. As expected, he slid his badge so Mary wouldn't have to get up, a change in their partnership she'd had to come to terms with.

"Good morning Tripp…" Marshall chirped in a falsely brisk voice that hid his fatigue very well. "I sincerely hope your collegiate conquest is going well…"

But before he could finish his usual wordy spiel, Tripp had blown right past him and straight up to Mary's desk. Up close, he did indeed look rather harassed. His often perfectly styled hair was sticking up in front and he was not wearing his characteristically snazzy button-up, but an old, faded T-shirt.

"Hey…" Mary began, making to rise, but he didn't allow her to go on either.

"Can I talk to you?" he blurted out at random. "It's important."

Mary cocked a skeptical eyebrow, hoping he remembered who was boss here. In truth, she cared for Tripp more than almost any other witness, not counting Mia who had passed away. She had the sense that she'd molded him more than any other individual in the program, as he'd come to Albuquerque at such an impressionable age without parents to rely upon. He reminded her so closely of her own youth.

"Sure…" she answered, albeit firmly. "I figured you wanted to talk if you were willing to get out of bed this early," she attempted a joke.

He didn't bite and huffed his way back to the conference room. Mary shot Marshall a look before following him, eyes scanning left to right, a silent inquiry to what he thought of this development. He merely shrugged and waggled his fingers, indicating she should get going.

Half of Mary wanted to ask him to join, but knew already it was probably best not to tinker with Tripp's temper. Instead, she followed her witness and immediately shut the door, tossing the file folder onto the long table, ready for whatever the story was.

"What can I do for you Tripp?" Mary asked, waddling over to the table and pulling out a chair, reminding herself grimly that standing for long periods of time was a no-no in her condition. "You said yesterday it was urgent, but not an emergency. I have to say that I'm leaning more toward the latter given this…" she gestured up and down his frame where he stood by the window.

At first, he did not offer anything further, peering through the blinds at the street below like he suspected someone unwelcome might be watching them. He tested Mary's patience for a moment before turning around to face her.

When he finally decided to give up the ghost, he didn't waste any time beating around the bush.

"I need to get custody of Billy and Gretel."

Mary opened her mouth to respond to this brash pronouncement, but it seemed that once the words were out of his mouth, Tripp was keen to plead his case.

"I-I-I-I _have_ to get custody of Billy and Gretel," his eyes grew wider and he flew over to the table across from Mary, leaning down upon it so he was inches from her face. "My mom has _totally_ lost it. She's insane. They aren't safe with her anymore. I-I-I can't let them…"

"Tripp…" Mary tried to interrupt, but he was full steam ahead now.

"You told me that when I was old enough I could do this!" he'd obviously planned to fight for his position.

"Tripp, take it easy…"

"I'm twenty-three! I'm an adult! She can't just have all the power and ruin their lives like she ruined mine…!"

"Tripp, shut up!" Mary finally bellowed, as his rambling was giving her a headache and she knew they'd never get anywhere if she didn't close down his spiel.

Fortunately, the seriousness of her voice did help him to shut his mouth. He rolled his eyes though, likely expecting to be talked off the ledge. Mary set her pen down and waved a hand at an empty chair across the table.

"Take a seat," she requested. "Don't go off the deep end quite yet. I need some details."

Mary was working to be as calm and rational as she could. Although floored by Tripp's demand, she'd had to learn – due to constant haranguing from Marshall – not to allow herself to get too worked up. She always felt the effects a lot of stress brought on for her and the twins; they tended to kick a lot more and her cramps always took an upswing. As Marshall said, they could never be too careful.

Anytime she felt like arguing with him, she just reminded herself of Jamie. Never again.

"Sit," Mary repeated when Tripp didn't move.

This seemed to jar him back to life, however, and he yanked out the chair, plunking down inside it and looking like a petulant child. Mary ignored this.

"Where is this coming from?" she got straight to the point, tapping her pen absently as Stan often did when he worked a case. "I know your mother has never been June Cleaver, but you've managed until now. Has something changed?"

Tripp wasn't entirely through being steamed, "She's _insane_," he repeated scathingly.

"Yeah, you mentioned that," Mary said coldly. "Insane doesn't give me much to go on. You're going to have to be more specific."

Tripp scowled, but conceded, "She's moving to _New Orleans_," he emphasized.

This definitely got Mary's attention and she sat up straighter, which wasn't easy with her belly in the way underneath the table. Tripp seemed vaguely satisfied he'd given her something concrete; something to shock her into agreeing with him.

"She is _not_ moving to New Orleans," Mary declared, and it wasn't a question.

"That's what she says…"

"Like hell she is," Mary cut him off. "She moves, she's out of WITSEC – permanently. By association, you and Billy and Gretel are out permanently. Which means that you three…"

It dawned somewhat slowly as Mary put the pieces together, her mouth hanging slack as her sentence trailed off. But now, it was crystal clear. Tripp wanted custody.

And to vocalize this realization, she breathed, "Oh."

Tripp slumped further in his chair, frowning deeply and looking to be on the verge of hitting Mary, though she knew it wasn't her he was mad at. Mary decided to take his silence while she had it to ask a few more probing questions.

"What is in New Orleans that she doesn't have here?"

Tripp sighed, anger abating only slightly, "She says she's tired of Albuquerque and wants a change of scenery. Plus, there's the newest guy she's bagging…" he shook his head in obvious embarrassment.

Mary remembered all too well Jinx's bouts with various men and empathized completely with her charge. She felt lucky that her mother had at least wised up as the years had gone on.

"I tried to explain to her that if she leaves the city she's putting all of us in danger, but she doesn't listen…" Tripp went on when Mary didn't comment on his reasoning.

"Well, I'm sorry," she interjected upon hearing this. "She's the adult. It's her job to follow the rules."

"I'm an adult too," Tripp reminded her somewhat defensively.

"But, you're not her babysitter Tripp," Mary jogged his memory sharply, feeling hatred toward Maureen ruminate in her bones, as it always did when she thought of kids raising their parents. "You've been trying to keep her in line for way too long."

"Look, I don't care about that," the boy cast this aside. "I'm used to her crap. But, I'm sick of worrying that she is going to leave Billy and Gretel on the side of the road every time she gets some half-assed idea," he grumped darkly.

Mary leaned forward in her chair slightly, which made her insides shift precariously. She felt the distinct thump of a kick against the ridge of her belly, and she automatically rubbed the spot where she'd felt the toes, knowing she had to try and settle the beings within.

"How serious do you think she is about skipping town?" Mary asked keenly. "Like you said, so many of her ideas are 'half-assed.' What are the chances she'll actually do it?"

Tripp shrugged, "She started calling U-Move last week about getting a truck."

His inspector's eyes bugged and her heartbeat jumped several notches, "And you come to me _now_?!" she turned on her reprimanding voice. "Tripp, if she had managed to sneak out under our noses, do you have any idea how much trouble we'd be in?!"

"I would've stopped her before she did _that_!" he insisted haughtily. "I'm not a complete idiot!"

Mary backed down as best she could; reminding herself once again that Tripp was not to blame here. It had never been his responsibility to make sure Maureen toed the line. By all accounts, he was looking to, once again, do the right thing. She'd been willing to help him go into foster care when he'd been in high school, and it seemed that promised day of obtaining ownership of the siblings he'd raised had finally arrived.

"You're sure about this?" she had to confirm. "Because getting out once you're in is a lot harder than it sounds, especially with you being in WITSEC." And before he could answer her question, she went on, "If you are positive you want to go through with this, Marshall and I can find you a lawyer and get the process started."

Tripp raised his eyebrows at this, clearly impressed against his will. It was plain he had expected to have to fight Mary a little more heartily to get custody rolling.

"I'm sure," he asserted firmly. "I mean, my mom won't have any idea what's hit her, but I don't care. Keeping Billy and Gretel safe is what's important."

Mary nodded soundly, proud of his decency, even if she was not typically a fan of knights in shining armor. Reclining in her chair once more, she flipped the file folder open, mind triggering at the mention of Maureen's predicted reaction to this bomb.

"Do Billy and Gretel have any idea you're planning this?" she scanned reports, seeing that Billy was now sixteen and Gretel was eleven. "Do you think they're in favor of you being their legal guardian?"

Tripp was quick at first, "Billy won't care. He's told my mom plenty of times that if she tried to ship him off to Louisiana that he'd stay here with me."

Mary was about to say that she was grateful for this before she noticed the young man visibly hesitate. He started wringing his hands in his lap, eyes straying from the woman to the shiny glass tabletop. She had a premonition that she knew what this was about and decided to give him a nudge.

"And Gretel?"

Tripp sighed and shrugged, allowing a pause to wrap them up, clearly trying to come off nonchalant with little success.

"I don't know that she'll be thrilled," he admitted in a low voice.

Mary opted to help him out, "She's still close with your mom?" she perused the file once more, trying to get reacquainted with Gretel's personality.

"Yeah," Tripp replied. "Still clinging to this idea she's going to turn herself around one of these days…"

"I know that feeling," Mary grumbled, but Tripp didn't seem to have heard.

"But, Gretel's barely eleven years old and she doesn't know what's best for her!" he burst, readying himself for another argument, but Mary stopped him with a raise of her hand.

"Tripp, you don't have to convince me," she placated him. "If you want to pursue custody, Marshall and I will be there every step of the way. But, it'll take some doing if Gretel needs convincing, not to mention the way Maureen is going to take the whole thing."

Tripp nodded soberly, accepting his fate, and as Mary looked at the growing stubble on his chin, into his sorrowful jade eyes, she knew that the restful final months of pregnancy Marshall had hoped for were quickly going out the window.

XXX

**A/N: It's not as though I think you've forgotten Tripp, but just in case you need a refresher course: He was a season two witness that came into the program with his mother and two younger siblings. As a high-schooler, he was caring for Billy and Gretel because Maureen, his mom, was too busy being a floozy to bother. Mary desperately tried to get him to go into foster care because she saw his life turning out as hers did; he nearly went through with it, but changed his mind at the last minute.**

**I admit that Tripp has always been a favorite witness of mine because his situation is so similar to Mary's when she was young. I admit I finagled with the kids' ages a little bit. Other than Tripp, we were never really informed of how old Billy and Gretel were supposed to be, so I ran with it. Hope the second installment was enjoyed!**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: I'm so glad you all enjoyed Tripp! He's definitely going to be sticking around, so that's good!**

XXX

The situation with Tripp meant that Mary was forced to cancel her lunch with Jinx, postponing talk of wallpaper and rocking chair cushions to an early-bird dinner that evening. Mary wasn't all together pleased her mother managed to reschedule so soon, but at least that meant Marshall would be able to join them.

As a result, Mary spent most of the afternoon obtaining a lawyer that she thought would be of some assistance in Tripp's custody battle. She also made notes on how best to approach Maureen when she came pounding on the door in the next few days. She left Gretel mostly in the back of her mind, after having told Tripp to try and prepare her for the impending circumstances as best he could.

By the time the woman and her partner reached five o'clock for supper with Jinx at Nob Hill Bar and Grill, Mary was drained, lamenting the fact that her current condition had her succumbing to weariness much faster.

Jinx had already acquired a booth at the back of the restaurant when Mary and Marshall arrived, waggling her fingers in anticipation of their entrance. Mary sighed, trying to revel in the fact that this discussion would be mindless, at best. She really wouldn't need to pay a lot of attention. Marshall could do most of the talking.

"Hello!" Jinx bellowed when they were within five feet, alerting practically the entire eatery of their appearance. Mary registered that her mother seemed to stretch out the 'o' in the greeting far longer than was necessary. "So good to see you; so good to see you both…!"

Mary wanted to quip that she'd seen quite enough of Jinx with Marshall having been on assignment for two weeks, but kept quiet while all the pleasantries were exchanged.

"Wonderful to see you as well, Jinx…" Marshall bestowed pleasantly, stooping like a hunchback to kiss her cheek and embrace briefly. "Thanks for keeping an eye on my girl while I was on the road."

"Oh, of course…" Jinx twittered gaily while Mary's eyes immediately journeyed skyward.

"You make me sound like the cat, doofus," she snapped irritably. "Like my family's been dropping in to feed and water me like some plant."

"Mary, dear," Jinx chimed in with a pacifying gaze, a kind reprimand for downplaying Marshall's devotion. "I'd give my right arm to have a man as dutiful as Marshall," she batted her eyelashes at said man, a shameless flirt.

Marshall himself gave a mock bow and took his seat while Mary allowed herself to be enveloped briefly by her mother. One of the good things about the sheer size of her belly was that it made her harder to hug.

"How are you holding up, sweet pea?" she inquired in her matronly way. "Doctor Reese said you would get tired easier now that you're at thirty-two weeks…"

"I know," Mary griped, annoyed as she slid into the booth next to Marshall. "I was there when she said that, believe it or not."

Marshall clapped her shoulder supportively, Jinx taking her seat across from them and opening her menu right away. Mary knew this gesture was used to get her to tone down her surly attitude.

"She's a tough old broad," he claimed jovially. "Not much can take this one down."

"Erase 'old' and I guess you've got most of it right," Mary approved with a semi-irritated smirk, also disappearing behind her menu.

"Old shmold," Jinx sang, muffled from the other side of them. "You'll have to get in touch with your youth with those grandbabies of mine on the way!" she raised her eyebrows this time, peering deliberately over the folds, to which Marshall gave a polite nod.

"Indeed-indeed," he agreed, not needing to deliberate on his meal for long, as he always ordered the same thing. He set the text aside as quickly as he'd picked it up, the better to see Jinx. "I got quite a taste of how one needs to operate on minimal sleep after my road trip last night," he informed the woman. "It has been rather a long day."

Jinx did not take the hint, where Marshall might be indicating that dinner should be a short affair. She blew that aside while Mary debated between a bacon cheeseburger and chicken Alfredo for supper. She really wanted the cheeseburger, but pickles had been making her sick lately. She could always order without, but then the sandwich would lose half of its appetizing nature. She didn't understand how she could crave something while it made her stomach churn almost simultaneously.

When Mary tuned back into the discussion, she found that her mother had already launched into a dialogue about nursery designs, something that was sure to make the daughter feel ill.

"I was thinking something with animals…" she suggested almost fanatically. "Of course, it is hard to come up with something that fits for both a boy and a girl…"

"No animals," Mary interrupted churlishly, folding her menu underneath her elbows. She ignored the skeptical glance Marshall shot her. "Animals are a cliché."

"Darling," Jinx turned patronizing right away, batting her lashes and trying to sway her decision. "Think of it – little owls or giraffes…"

"No," Mary coughed around her glass of complimentary water. "It's so cutesy."

"Well sweetheart," the brunette gave a tinkling giggle. "Babies _are_ cute."

"Usually," Mary grumbled under her breath. "We can't count on it with these two."

She was being moody somewhat on purpose, and it earned her a nudge of Marshall's elbow. She flicked her eyes to him, and although Jinx couldn't make out Mary's expression, it was one of definite exasperation. Marshall blinked his eyes pityingly while Jinx rambled on, silently telling her that he knew she found this trying, but to sweat it out as best she could.

Mary merely huffed and allowed the man to answer.

"I have ample confidence our infants will be attractive enough. We are semi-attractive people, after all…" he winked suggestively at Mary, and she grinned against her will.

"Maybe I am," she batted back playfully. "Or at least I used to be before I grew to the size of a killer whale."

Predictably, Jinx only caught one word of this exchange, "Now, whales would be adorable!" She practically shrieked, which caused their waiter to bypass the table, thinking they weren't ready when Jinx waved her menu around in exuberance. "A nautical theme would be absolutely beautiful! We could do sailboats and waves; a stunning pale blue…"

She was on the verge of illustrating this scene with her hands when Mary cut her off.

"What are we, sailors?" she barked irritably.

"Ahoy matey," Marshall intoned under his breath, taking a sip of water.

"Anyway, how would that work for a girl?" she continued, pretending she hadn't heard him. "All that blue. We don't need people mistaking them for two boys. Our daughter would never live it down."

"Mary dear," Jinx's spirit faltered slightly. "No one would think the girl was a boy just because you have sailboats on the wall. Be reasonable…"

At this, Marshall made a tutting sound, clearly thinking Mary was about to fly off the handle with this suggestion. She settled for slapping her menu on the table, recklessly deciding on the bacon cheeseburger, willing to chance throwing up later because of the pickles that would be on it. She didn't know why, but mention of designing the nursery often made her testy.

"I don't see why we needed to have dinner to talk about this," Mary snapped, willing herself to keep her temper in check with little success. "I'm not due to pop for another eight weeks."

"But honey…" Jinx began in what was perhaps supposed to be a soothing tone. "You can't know for sure that they won't come sooner. Doctor Reese told you at your last appointment that now is the time to start looking for symptoms…"

"She didn't call them 'symptoms,'" Mary shot back through gritted teeth. "She said 'signs,'" like there was a difference.

"Sweetheart, please don't get upset," Jinx went on, not truly concerned, but used to babying Mary in her current state of affairs. "If you were to go into labor you wouldn't have the nursery ready. I want to help, and I wouldn't want to put something together that you wouldn't like. That's why I'm asking…"

But the mention of going into labor was quite enough for Mary who, after a lengthy day dealing with Tripp and his unruly mother, didn't have the energy to feign cordialness.

"I don't remember asking for your help when I go into labor," she proclaimed heartlessly.

Marshall, who knew what a sensitive subject this was, decided abruptly that it was time to intervene. He knew there were times when Mary and Jinx were able to duke it out to the point where they simmered down, and when it would only escalate. With his trademark calmness, he sat up further in the booth, undoubtedly working off the hurt look in Jinx's wide eyes inside her milky face.

"We are getting ahead of ourselves just a bit," he claimed placidly with a neutral sort of smile. "We can talk about nursery ideas over the phone – and there's always e-mail," still grinning. "If we don't come to a conclusion tonight," he added as an afterthought.

Mary said nothing, knowing she was going to be expected to comply. Jinx, however, nodded agreeably, still looking wounded from Mary's shortened fuse. Marshall was often the expert at talking down her liveliness over her grandchildren.

"Right…right…" the older woman said softly, clearing her throat and fluttering her hands nervously. "Mary honey…" again with the terms of endearment. "I'm sorry if you think I'm pressuring you. I just want to help."

This was a classic, tried-and-true line from Jinx when she wanted to defend something she'd done that Mary did not approve of. As if masking it as assistance made it seem anything less than it was. Which was blatant and unrequited pushing. Head-first.

"Whatever," she growled from across the table.

She gained yet another glance from Marshall over the rim of his glass. This one was pleading. Telling her to drop the snark.

And only for Marshall, "Forget it," she shook her head. "No big deal. I just don't feel like talking about it tonight. I'm tired."

Jinx accepted this half-hearted, unspoken apology and offered her daughter a forgiving smile. She then nudged herself to the edge of the booth, as though planning to leave.

"I'm just going to run to the restroom for a moment," she informed them both. "If the waiter comes back, would you order me the smoked turkey sandwich?" she directed this mostly at Marshall.

"Of course," he amended. "We'll be here."

After Jinx had flounced away, Marshall rounded on Mary, as she'd known he was going to. She gulped her water to avoid having to talk to him, knowing she would regret it in about five minutes. She was already peeing by the hour. Chugging a glass of water was only going to make it worse.

Still, she could not entirely avoid the penetrating, light blue gaze he gave her, one that said she would not be able to hide forever. Finally, she got sick of his staring and, with a satisfied gulp, plunked her glass back on the tabletop.

"What?" she spat.

As always, Marshall was tranquil, "Is everything all right?" now he peered downward at her.

She shrugged, which was a noncommittal response.

"What? I'm not allowed to be pissed that my mother can't take a hint? I'm tired. You're tired. And all she does is prattle on about sailboats and owls."

Now he was peaceful, but truthful, "You don't think you're being a little hard on Jinx?"

"Marshall, she's a big girl," Mary was not going to be baited into guilt. "She'll get over it."

"What about you?" he asked hesitantly. "Are you going to learn not to have a coronary every time someone starts talking about nurseries or cribs or framed handprints to put on the wall?"

"Please," she rolled her eyes, as though his suggestions were beyond preposterous. "Why should I have a problem with all that crap? It's essential, isn't it? Except for the handprints."

"I don't think it's the material items you take umbrage to," he hypothesized, moving closer to her. Mary was worried she'd fall into the aisle. "It is what they represent."

She tipped her chin condescendingly, "I do not have the patience for this, Marshall."

"Look…"

He dropped pretense and allowed his hand to inch its way onto Mary's thigh. Without thinking, she let her fingers curl into his, but it was a reflex now. It was automatic, as was the squeeze he left in her palm.

"I'm sorry I wasn't around when you had your doctor's appointment last week," he started to say while she averted her eyes in hopes of delaying his conclusion a little longer. "But, you really did not confide much to me other than that the kids are healthy. Did Doctor Reese say something that worried you?"

Mary watched his fingers intertwine in hers for a moment; like threads in a patchwork quilt. They fit perfectly, even though his were longer and sturdier than her own. They still helped to weave the entire blanket together.

"She didn't say anything," Mary mumbled to her knees. But then, knowing Marshall had already heard Jinx's explanation, "Just that old Frick and Frack could basically come any day. Thirty-two weeks is kind of a milestone with twins, I guess."

She worked to make it sound like she did not especially care; that this information was mundane. She knew Marshall would see right through her.

"I remember her talk of all those milestones," he contributed. "We got past twenty weeks – twenty-four, and then twenty-eight. What did she say about thirty-two?"

Mary felt certain he was only asking to get the ball rolling; to make her face the situation as it was. He likely already knew exactly what the viability for twins was at thirty-two weeks and beyond.

Finally, she looked at him, hunching her shoulders every third word, which gave him a thousand clues to her anxiety.

"Just that they have a better chance of survival at thirty-two weeks, but their lungs probably won't be developed yet…"

"Okay…" Marshall urged her along.

"If they were born now, they'd still be in the NICU and maybe hooked up to oxygen…"

She stopped there, not liking the sorts of images this was bringing to her mind. Ever since she had discovered she was pregnant with twins at that fateful sixteen weeks, she had driven herself to the brink with worry about them being born too soon. Anything that caused them harm was enough to give her hives, and this had been the most likely possibility from the very beginning.

Marshall could see she was clamming up – or else he felt it in her clenched hand. He let go and leaned his chin in his palms on the table, blinking casually at her.

"Well, we've talked about this," he reminded her kindly. "We've always known that could happen, but every week you stay pregnant is another week they have to grow. You're plugging along very nicely," he praised. "And, Doctor Reese told us that thirty-seven weeks is considered full-term for twins. You won't even necessarily have to go the full forty."

But it wasn't this, entirely, that had gotten Mary worked up. Marshall must've been able to guess it too, because he frowned underneath the dim bulb hanging over their booth.

"Was that all?" he prodded delicately.

Mary swallowed, not endeared to the idea that they were having this conversation in a public place.

"No, she just told me to start watching my step because of my blood pressure and because there's a bigger chance that I'll go into labor now…" her throat went dry. "She said that if that happened they'd try to delay it as long as possible, but…"

Marshall stopped her here, "I'm surprised she thought you could deliver naturally," he remarked, wrinkling his brow. "At least at this point. She said the kids move positions so much it's really hard to tell with twins."

"She said she won't be able to know for sure until it's happening," Mary informed him, starting to feel very confined now.

Whenever she felt trapped, she got hot, which made her stressed, which in turn made her feel sick. This was not a good discussion to have. Not now, not ever.

"I-I-I-I…this is not important," she blurted out suddenly to make Marshall stop interrogating her. "Not today, anyway. I guess Jinx rambling onward and upward about this whole nursery thing has me thinking it's happening sooner rather than later. You cracked the code. It makes me nervous. That's it," now she was doing some babbling of her own, and becoming out-of-breath to boot.

Marshall tipped his head sideways, studying her momentarily, examining her gasping nature and darting green eyes. She was not exactly the picture of calm. He hoped she would learn to control that when they were in that delivery room. Now wasn't the time to bring it up, however.

"Mary…" he whispered rationally, and she took an obligatory drink of water. "If this was bothering you, why didn't you tell me?"

There wasn't a good answer here, but Mary still had her reasons.

"Because I didn't want you thinking I'm a complete basket case," she replied somewhat snidely. "I thought you'd try to come home early – that you'd think something was wrong. Nothing's wrong. If we have a nursery by the time they get here, then we have one. If we don't, we don't."

Jinx was going to be back any minute, and Mary did not want her to fall witness to her current attitude. She tried to change topics as quickly as possible.

"And, I'm hung up about Tripp," she invented, although it wasn't a total lie. "He's a good kid. He wants to do the right thing, but he's in for a rough road. I'm worried about his sister and what's going to happen to the three of them."

"His sister?" Marshall inquired, seizing the switch. "Gretel?"

Mary nodded, "Tripp says she's probably not going to be ecstatic about this whole custody thing. She's only eleven."

Marshall bobbed his head as well, "You've got a lot going on," he acknowledged. "Just…keep it to a minimum," he advised, patting her shoulder. "Let me know if you start feeling overwhelmed. Like you said, it's watch-your-step time."

"Don't remind me," Mary quipped. "Let's just leave it for now."

To Mary's relief, Marshall consented to this plan and instead looked over his woman's shoulder at her menu, which was still partway open on their round table.

"What are you gonna have?" he asked curiously.

"Bacon cheeseburger," Mary supplied without considering his aptitude about her internal system.

He shot her his best frustrated look, "Is that advisable?" he questioned. "There are about six ingredients on that slab of grease that make you sick."

"Mr. Exaggeration," Mary shoved him away. "It's just the pickles. I can handle it."

As they'd both had to come to terms with in the last eight months, they were going to have to learn to handle just about anything.

XXX

**A/N: Believe me when I tell you, without giving too much away, that Mary's paranoia is going to be an ongoing, running theme – no matter how irrational she might seem or what the facts are! But, thankfully she has Marshall to reassure her. Thank-you kindly for the reviews!**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: My sincere gratitude, yet again, for all the kind reviews! Twenty-six already and only three chapters posted! I am floored!**

XXX

Mary didn't sleep well that night. The twilit hours, much like the sunny ones, were hit-or-miss in terms of how she felt. Either she was so worn out that the spasms in her back were barely noticeable, or she couldn't sufficiently shut her mind off to ignore them.

Marshall crashed around eleven thirty, right on the couch in the living room watching reruns of old sitcoms. It amused Mary for awhile, watching him completely zonked with the TV blaring, his mouth half open. She knew he hadn't intended to fall asleep there, trying to hold out until Mary went to bed, but he didn't make it.

His woman tossed and turned for awhile, taking advantage of the extra mattress space while she had it, but try as she might, she couldn't get comfortable. After dozing for an hour or so, she got out of bed for a drink, perhaps to wake Marshall and persuade him to join her, but allowing the shift in gravity to take place was a big mistake.

With a groan as she set foot on the carpet, Mary felt the wrath of the pickles she'd digested hours before. It could've been any number of foods making her stomach churn, in reality. The burger had been delightfully fatty and greasy, which she'd enjoyed at the time, but was now deeply regretting. The combination of ketchup and mustard was likely doing a number on her as well.

But in the end, the real culprit was the pickles. Once wonderfully sour and tangy, in the afterhours of eating them, Mary could only taste the repugnant vinegar; nauseatingly strong in their acidity.

She stumbled unsteadily to the bathroom that was closest, noticing only out of the corner of her eye that Beatrix had jumped down off the bed and followed her. The cat was there to watch from the sink, swishing her tail as Mary lowered herself to the cold tile, almost a more painful act than the vomiting these days.

Some nights, she was barely quick enough to get to the toilet in time, but tonight she was forced to wait it out. Forced to wait while her belly rolled like the high tide in the ocean, forced to taste the horrible bile as it crept its way along her throat to her tongue. She shut her eyes, gulping, swallowing that nastiness down over and over again, praying it wouldn't come up tonight…

"Mary?"

As soon as Marshall appeared in the doorway, rumpled and drowsy, she inclined onto her knees and threw up, retching unattractively into that white basin. Something she'd seen far too much of in the last eight months.

She tried as hard as her weakening form would allow not to look at what was left behind, what had minutes before been in her stomach. And smelling it would only make her puke again.

Keeping her eyes pinched shut and working not to inhale, she felt the floor reverberate around her, meaning Marshall had left his post. Seconds later, he was crouching behind her, gathering the hair that was falling in her face into his fingers. He had become very skilled at doing this.

"You okay?" he asked tenderly when he thought she had the minute to spare.

Wordlessly, he reached over Mary's head and flushed so she could open her eyes. Over the whirring of the bowl, she did face the harshly lighted bathroom and settled onto her haunches. Marshall kept hold of her hair.

"I'm okay," she managed raspily. "You were right," feigning a feeble chuckle. "Pickles came back to bite me in the ass."

"The things we'll do for what we love," he teased back, and she was able to give him a frail smile.

With that, she blew out slowly, making sure she wasn't going to be too lightheaded when she stood up, which likely wouldn't be for another moment or two. She was fully on the ground now, Marshall's fingers wrapped limply in her strands. She couldn't imagine how absurd they must look.

"Do you want a glass of water?" he inquired conversationally, as though people did this sort of thing every night.

"In a minute," Mary whispered, not wanting him to go just yet in case she had another spell.

Marshall picked up on this even though she hadn't vocalized it and arranged himself in a cross-legged position. Mary noted that his pajama top – an old white T-shirt – was askew. Her pants, even with their elastic in the waistband, had long since become too tight. She had ridges around her belly where they squeezed against her skin.

"I'm sorry I went down for the count before you had headed to bed," he contributed through the silence. "I guess I was pretty bushed."

"Don't worry about it," Mary shut him down in an obligatory way. "I couldn't sleep anyway. But, you should go back to bed," indicating the half-closed door beyond, Beatrix picking at her front paws on the counter. "You'll have another busy day tomorrow."

"No, I'll wait," he shrugged casually. "I don't mind. I want to make sure you're all right," he always did. "Why couldn't you sleep?"

Mary inadvertently scooted herself up against the lower cabinets in an effort to ease the throbbing in her back, which didn't respond kindly when she sat on the floor.

"Stuff on my mind," she responded vaguely, trying to stretch.

With an involuntary wince, her hand fluttered around her spine, not knowing how to alleviate the ache.

Knowing Marshall would've already seen her cringe, the rest came without warning, "Jesus, my back is killing me…"

It was a persistent, pulsating pain, pounding into all of her vertebrae like a jackhammer. Like having the kids beating on her intestines twenty-four seven was not enough. Mary squeezed her eyes shut another time, trying to master the intensity until it died down, as it usually did.

"Give me your hand," Marshall instructed through the darkness. "Let me help you back to bad; I'll rub your back. You shouldn't be on the ground anyway."

"Unless you want me to barf on the sheets…" Mary slid in sarcastically. "I think we should stay here another minute."

Although, she certainly looked forward to the moment when she felt sure she was _not_ in fact going to vomit once more, and could fully embrace Marshall's generous offer to caress her sore muscles. He gave an excellent back rub. Somehow, his hands always seemed to gravitate toward her most tightened areas. It was the perfect remedy to put her to sleep, but she rarely bothered him to engage. He needed his rest too, after all.

When Mary's back relieved her of its most intense aches, she blinked at Marshall, who was looking droopy but very resolute in staying with her until she gave the green light.

"Thanks for hanging out," she voiced agreeably. "It can't be what you wanted to do at one thirty in the morning."

"The way I figure it…" Marshall began in his most noble tone. "It is hardly your idea of a fun time at this hour either – or any hour. Company doesn't hurt."

"Good thing too, because everything else does," Mary scoffed.

And, very used to accepting assistance anymore, she held out her arm, indicating that they were safe and she and Marshall could begin their ascent.

"Go slow…" he advised upon seeing this, closing his fingers tight around hers so she could feel the security of his anchor. "I won't let you fall."

Mary knew this, but still joshed, "Only because if you did I'd flatten you into a pancake."

Marshall gave a spontaneous laugh as, with a moan from the blonde, he hoisted her from her spot. Mary had to throw out her free hand to steady herself on the counter, but she was upright and that was all that mattered. When she caught her balance, she noticed Beatrix still grooming herself near the sink.

"Enjoy the show did you, Bean Brain?" Mary wanted to know, narrowing her brows at the being. "Why does she have to come in here every night to revel in my misery?"

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you thought Beatrix had feelings," Marshall suggested somewhat smugly. "At the very least, a sense of loyalty to her mistress. After all, she is right by your side when you are in disarray."

"Yeah-yeah…" she mumbled.

With that, she was able to shake herself free of Marshall's grip, confident she could at least make it to bed by herself. Once they were back in the darkness of the bedroom, Marshall killed the bathroom light. Mary expected him to join her, but he recalled his promises, ones she couldn't even remember he'd made.

"Let me go grab you that water," he proposed. "You get to bed. I'll be right back."

Mary had every intention of obeying as Marshall shuffled off to the kitchen, but after she'd stood sentry for a blank moment; her feet had her following him. She made nary a sound on the hardwood, her bare toes sticking to the floor, but she didn't meet him in the kitchen.

Instead, she eased open the door to what had, nine months before, been a still-cluttered guest room, despite her and Jinx's attempts to clean it out. The hatch did not even creak, simply allowed her admittance into an empty space that could not have felt fuller, regardless of its lack of furniture and personality.

The soon-to-be-nursery was lit only by the natural light of the curtain-less window, casting blue shadows across the planks in the wood. The walls were stark, bare, and white. Only a few boxes of Brandi's unclaimed artifacts remained. Jinx had taken the bed long ago when she'd moved out after acquiring her job at the dance studio. How could this expanse, which right now housed nothing, be haunting Mary so fiercely? Haunting wasn't even the word. It was tailing after her, constantly in the back of her mind, reminding her at every turn what was soon to reside within it.

She did not even hear Marshall pass the room and go back down the hall – didn't hear him rummage amongst their blankets looking for her enormous shape. When he found her, the door did give a loud squeak, alerting her to his presence.

"What are you doing?" he asked quietly, as though disturbing someone, though there was no one else in the house.

Mary turned around to see him tousling his already matted hair, holding her beverage at the ready.

He came all the way inside when she didn't answer. Depositing the drink on the floor, he wove his arms around what was essentially her nonexistent waist, resting his chin on her shoulder.

"This can wait," he urged temperately. "Come to bed," she felt him press his lips against her temple; nothing but soft and comfortable in the dark. "I know you do not believe it will be so, but we'll have plenty of time to whip up a design for our very own Frick and Frack. Jinx will be sure of it."

Mary tried to nod, which was hard with him compressing against her back, which didn't hurt so much with him pushing so close.

"It's just a room," she intoned in front of him. "Why do I care so much if it has whales or jungle animals?"

"You said yourself it's because you don't like to think of the kids showing up too soon," Marshall picked up their conversation from earlier. "That it's stress over not being prepared. I find that perfectly natural."

While she thought, Mary realized as the minutes elapsed that her partner was already kneading the knots in her back. He had loosened his embrace ever so slightly to do so, putting her into a trance.

"But it's more than that," she confessed. "I want it to be…_them_," she knew it was impossible to describe; knew even Marshall wouldn't get it. He wasn't a mother. "I want it to fit _them_, not just any pair in the world. How can I make it more personal if I don't know who they are yet?"

Marshall took pause as Mary let out a moan of pleasure at his massage. He grinned and laid another kiss upon her cheek before responding.

"We will do the best we can," he promised. "I think you will have to live with that hazy, but nonetheless truthful answer until at least morning."

But there were so many uncertainties in her life right now, Mary thought. Would she be able to concoct a nursery that was up to her standards? Would the twins come before she could figure out what that was? Would they be so small they couldn't breathe on their own? Would she go into labor or be forced into a C-section? Would she have to go on bed rest? What about her job? What about Tripp?

She longed to say any and all of these things to Marshall, but he was right, as usual. It was too late. They were too sapped of energy. She needn't keep him awake any longer.

"I'm not _trying_ to drive you insane, you know," she said at random, unsure how else to phrase all that she was thinking.

Marshall chuckled, which was a glorious, pure sound in her ear.

"If I weren't used to it by now, we most absolutely would not have joined as one," he assured her. "And, you are not driving me insane, nor are you anything close to it. It's a tentative world we live in right now. As an individual who grapples with trying to relinquish control, I think you have done exceptionally well."

Mary almost blushed at this very elaborate compliment of his, but turned around instead. His long, sharp-featured face was cast in shadow, but he was as patient as ever. He didn't look rushed or frustrated or even exhausted, though she knew he was. She believed every word he said. It was why she loved him.

"You saying I'm not the control freak I once was?" she solicited playfully.

"I am saying you have come a long way," he reinforced. "Now, I don't want to have to demand you come to bed. Nor do I want to go without you."

Mary exhaled in defeat, "I might stay in tomorrow morning. Work from the house. Plan some logistics on the whole Tripp thing."

Marshall nodded, "Very sensible." And then, much more firmly, patting her hair, "Bed."

She smirked lovingly before allowing him to grasp her hand and lead her back down the hall, feeling positive that Beatrix had taken up the warm place on her pillow already.

XXX

**A/N: This is not my favorite chapter – it's a little bit of filler, and reminds me a little too closely of parts of other stories I've written, but even so. Mary and Marshall nighttime comforts can't be too bad. Also, I know I said that the chapters get longer – they do; they're just not there yet! **


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Thank-you for continuing to keep up with me! I admit, this chapter made me think of my buddy Jayne Leigh because it has one of her favorite characters in it!**

XXX

As promised, Mary did spend Tuesday morning at home while Marshall slouched off to work, trying to hide the bags under his eyes and the stubble on his chin. His fellow inspector wondered suspiciously if he was having his own sleepless nights without her, as he was customarily used to functioning without much rest. For as many years as he'd been in WITSEC, he'd proved that.

Feeling somewhat guilty for lounging on the couch while Marshall put his nose to the grindstone, Mary mapped out a few options for her situation with Tripp, hoping he was keeping Maureen tied down until she was served with custody papers.

The day was muggy and grey; enormous clouds hung low and fluffy in the charcoal sky beyond the front window. They'd had a wetter summer than the last, as Mary remembered all-too-well the inconvenient thunderstorms that had popped up after she had lost Jamie.

When her phone rang around nine-thirty, she assumed it was Marshall checking up on her, only to find Brandi's name flashing on the display. Resigned, as she'd been forced to tolerate quite a bit of her sister since Marshall's excursion to Wyoming, she hit the talk button. She hoped the other woman could at least be quick.

"Hey Squish…" she greeted her casually, ruffling through the file folder perched on her knees. "What's up?"

"Nothing-nothing…" Brandi sang unconvincingly and airily, like she had not a care in the world. "Peter opened up the dealership this morning. I have to go to Las Cruces to close a deal for him this afternoon, so I got the morning off."

Mary was about to say that-that made two of them, but didn't want her sister to think she had indefinable time to spare, and switched speeds before opening her mouth.

"Yeah, that's you," she snarked, trying to picture Brandi in some board meeting in a fancy suit; an image that did not spring to mind right away. "The closer."

"For your information…" Brandi countered hoarsely on the other end, striking each word and sounding impossibly snooty. "I was the leader on the sales board _again_ last week. The numbers don't lie…"

"Maybe they do when your boss is your husband," Mary reminded her cattily, only half-listening as she perused Gretel's stats for what felt like the fifth time, trying to find some facet of information that would help in leveling the boom.

"Peter does not show favoritism!" Brandi proclaimed, which earned her a hearty, guffawing laugh from her big sister.

"You ask him that and see what he says," she suggested, knowing Brandi would not actually do it. She cared too much about being perceived as the best to bother finding out if it was authentic.

"Anyway…" the younger cut in sharply, clearly keen to get off this subject. "I talked to mom last night. She said you were being really pissy at dinner."

Mary rolled her eyes and felt a nudge against her bare feet. Beatrix was trying to find a space to curl up and take a nap, her black stripes looking darker when there was no sunlight to catch the midnight streaks. She ferreted around with her nose, not able to locate a patch large enough. Meanwhile, her master tended to her ever-gossipy younger half.

"She said that?"

Mary, even in her annoyance with Jinx's cheerfulness, severely doubted her mother had used the word 'pissy.'

"Well, she said you were in a mood anyway," Brandi clarified. "Why? Shouldn't you be happy that the babies are almost done cooking?"

"Squish, I am not an oven," Mary corrected quickly. "And the _kids_ are not almost done in any sense of the word. They have at least five weeks to go, if not more."

In the back of her mind, Mary wondered why Brandi had targeted this specific aspect of her dealings with Jinx. Mary had not explicitly said to her mother that the reason she was freaking out over the nursery was because she was losing her cool over due dates. Was it possible Jinx had guessed?

"I still don't see why you're biting mom's head off about the nursery," Brandi continued breezily, showing her lack-of-astuteness in every word. "It's not like you can do it when you're six hundred pounds anyway."

"Jesus, Squish!" Mary barked, causing Beatrix to jump with alarm on top of Mary's toes. She scratched the skin uncomfortably, but the woman ignored it. "If you want _me_ to start taking pot shots on _your_ appearance, you let me know, because I have a few choice phrases I'm sure I could drudge up."

She was thinking of poking fun at Brandi's rail-thin nature, along with the fact that she used to parade around in her underwear when she'd lived with Mary before Peter came along. Such articles of clothing accentuated parts of one's figure no one needed to see, no matter how skinny Brandi was. Before she could get there, however, her sister backed down.

"I'm just kidding," she claimed with a chuckle. "Touchy-touchy."

Despite how insulting Brandi's words might be, Mary didn't often take them to heart, so perhaps 'touchy' was the correct term to use.

"Look Brandi, if you want to make yourself useful, I could really use your help where mom is concerned," she declared on a sudden burst of inspiration. "She's hell bent on playing decorator. You think you could get her to tone it down and come up with some decent ideas?"

Mary did not entirely trust them to put their heads together and create some nursery right out of a magazine, but two minds were better than one. Even though they were too alike for their own good, there were rare occasions that her mother and sister balanced each other out with their differing opinions. In any case, Mary had-had Marshall make it clear to everyone that no living quarters was to be put together without her approval.

"I can pencil it in," Brandi giggled arrogantly. She quickly reverted to a more natural tone, "Yeah, sure. But, do you have anywhere you want to start? Because mom said you turned down everything she suggested."

Mary didn't know what to say to this and shook her head even though Brandi couldn't see her.

"I don't know. Just, run some thoughts by me or Marshall in the next few days."

"You know what you need…" Brandi suddenly interrupted out of nowhere. "Is a bigger house!"

"Yeah, like _your_ mansion?" Mary scoffed. "We're not the Kardashians, Squish. Marshall and I aren't going to buy some manor the size of a hotel that we don't need. Two kids is not a fleet."

The younger was sniggering rather annoyingly over the phone, and now that she'd started talking of nurseries and houses, the inevitable advice Brandi gave when they were anywhere near these waters was about to surge forth. Mary was sure of it.

"Well, maybe you and Marshall will get some farm in the country after you get _married_."

Knowing it was coming did not stop Mary from heating up. She closed Tripp's file, thinking it was highly unlikely she was going to get any work done at this point.

"Not this again," she huffed.

"Mare, come _on_!" Brandi urged. "You've known each other for ten years! You live together and you're having _twins_! Tie the knot already!"

"I'm not having this discussion with you," Mary interjected firmly, knowing Brandi was doing this on purpose. She'd been manic over the idea of nuptials since they'd learned the older sister was pregnant. "Marshall and I have talked about this. Neither one of us are interested in the formality of marriage. Not right now anyway."

"Having babies out of wedlock…" Brandi chastised playfully, the furthest thing from serious. "You bring the Shannons shame."

"Actually, I'd say I bring the Shannons pride. Like father, like daughter, considering dad's multiple families."

She had not intended to bring James into it; it was a simple joke, and yet she took pause just the same. She thought about her father more often than she admitted, especially with the kids on the way, but she rarely let on how much she wondered about him. It was all elementary, of course. It didn't matter how he'd feel if he knew she was pregnant. It didn't matter where he was now or what he was doing. He wasn't coming back. Ever since Jamie, she'd had to learn to come to terms with the idea, although she frequently reverted.

"That's aiming pretty low, Mare," was Brandi's less-than-profound comment to her cynicism. "You can't honestly believe Marshall doesn't _want_ to get married. He'd race you down the aisle!"

"He said he doesn't need to, and I trust him," Mary's life had no purpose if she couldn't rely on that single phrase; belief in Marshall was the rope tethering her to the ground day-in-and-out. "What he also doesn't need is you putting ideas in his head. We have enough going on."

At this, Brandi became curious, "You don't sound like you're at work," she observed shrewdly. "What are you doing at home if you have _so much_ going on?" the accent she put on the middle words was obnoxious, as if she didn't believe her older sister's tale.

It was this, perhaps, that made Mary neglect to be truthful. While Brandi was valuable for a lot of tedious, trivial discussions when the taller's brain was feeling fried, when it came to anything serious she wasn't the one Mary went to. She had Marshall, and even Jinx, for that sort of thing. Although the hovering from her mother got tiresome, at least she was more sincere and compassionate than Brandi on a daily basis.

"None of your business," she finally snapped. "I'm entitled to days off lugging around these two rug-rats. Count on it."

"All right, all right," Brandi sang, not as though she had any investment in the question.

At that moment, Mary was saved by the bell when her cell started beeping in her ear, meaning call waiting had kicked in. She was grateful she would be able to give Brandi the brush off and have an honest excuse at the same time.

"Hey Squish, I've gotta go…" she relayed without wasting any more precious time. "I have another call coming in. It might be about work."

It could be, but if it was, it was likely Tripp and she had nothing new to tell him yet. More probable was that it was Marshall, Mary surmising for a second time that he would want to see how she was doing, though he'd only left a few hours before.

"Okay…" Brandi was unexpectedly agreeable when she heard. "I'll get back to you on paint samples and stuff."

"Whatever," Mary scoffed; shaking her head and hoping both her sister and mother would keep whatever notions they had about nurseries in their head for the next few days. "Talk to you later."

"Bye."

Once she heard Brandi hang up, she pulled the cell away from her ear, noticing as she did so that her feet had grown hot. Beatrix had settled herself right on top of Mary's toes, snoozing away. Though agitated if she got too warm, Mary decided to let her be and instead focused on who was ringing her up just before ten o'clock.

To her surprise, it was not Marshall or Tripp on the other end, but Seth, Marshall's father, calling all the way from Montana where he and Marshall's mother had retired the year before. Somewhat perplexed, but not alarmed, Mary had no qualms about answering. Seth had mellowed considerably since he'd left Operation Falcon in the rearview, and he and Mary had hit it off. He was tickled pink about his two grandchildren on the way.

"Hello?" she said, still feeling the need to be slightly formal with her honorary father-in-law.

"Hey doll…" Seth hailed in his gravelly voice, sounding pleased to hear her tentative one all the way in Albuquerque. She grinned at his often-used nickname. "Just talked to my boy. He said you're laid up this morning. They haven't confiscated your glock yet, I hope."

"Not yet," Mary chuckled, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. "But, I wouldn't be shocked if it's coming soon. The men around here seem to think I can't shoot anyone onto their ass anymore. Like not being able to sprint the mile really makes a difference."

"Well, if I ever knew a lady that could prove 'em wrong…" Seth contributed admiringly. "It would be you. Tough as nails. I'm surprised you consented to staying home. Little off your fighting game?"

"Nah, I've gotten better about it," Mary assured him. "Keeping Frick and Frack intact is more important than proving myself to Marshall and Stan. Only, don't let that get around."

"My lips are sealed," he proclaimed gallantly.

Mary smiled again, not really knowing why Seth had called, but not really caring either. She'd learned to appreciate his gruff persona since having hooked up with Marshall. Although she knew they'd given each other grief in the years before, his father's attachment to Mary seemed to have smoothed things over for both of them. Seth had no daughters and with Mary the essentially fatherless child, they fit like a glove.

"So…" she segued after Seth promised his allegiance to her word. "How are you anyway, old man? Retirement shaping up well for an old geezer like you?' she teased.

"The misses seems to think I need a few more things to keep me busy," Seth grumbled. "Something tells me I'm getting in her way."

Mary had only met Marshall's mother, Laura, one time. She was soft-spoken and polite, all the while treating Marshall like the perfect son; her youngest, her baby. Something told her that Laura was a different story around Seth, and didn't hesitate to remind him who was boss.

"She doesn't have you doing housework yet, does she?" Mary inquired with an air of deviousness. "The day Marshall has me vacuuming is the day he's frequenting singles bars."

"Lucky for you, I'd say your current condition keeps him from asking," Seth guessed. "No, Laura's reprimands are more along the lines of, 'Stop trying to stick your nose in all the police business around here! Go play a game of golf,'" he chortled at the absurdity.

"Golf?" Mary questioned this as well. "I can't see you prancing around in pink checkered pants and polos. No offense."

"Far from it. I didn't think golf would be such a hot item up here in Montana, but it's what all the retired folk are into," he informed Mary. "I'm looking into a different pastime. I used to be a decent horseback rider in my youth. I might look into that."

Mary tried to picture Seth sitting astride a giant bucking bronco and, oddly, the image wasn't overly disorienting. He'd look somewhat out-of-place, yes, but his rugged-law-enforcement character only aided the idea that he could hop in the saddle and gallop off. Instantly, she tried to imagine Marshall doing the same thing and let out a laugh against her will.

Understandably, Seth assumed she was joshing him, "Don't think I'm up to snuff, do you, ma'am?"

She didn't elaborate on why she'd chuckled and shifted her weight instead. Her belly had become cramped from sitting so long, as had her legs. She could feel one of the twins jabbing the ridge of her tummy with their elbow – or so she could guess. She bore down on the spot with her fingers, trying to rub away the ache it left behind.

She took a little too long trying to become comfortable again, because Seth thought he'd lost her.

"You there?"

"Yeah…" she breathed vaguely, closing her eyes for a second and allowing the soreness to taper off, which it did when she leaned to the left slightly. "The aliens I'm trying to keep from bursting into the open are a little restless."

"Ah…" Seth exhaled in a proud and prominent sort of way, as though he was the one who was pregnant. "How are those two little sweet peas of mine? Gonna be grandpa's little soldiers, they are…"

Mary had to smirk at how ooey-gooey he suddenly sounded; the kids were clearly Seth's ultimate weakness. Against her will, she enjoyed that sort of devotion from an older man, knowing her own father certainly wasn't stepping into the role. Stan had always been the next best thing. While she was sure he'd warm up to the twins in an instant, at the moment he was too flustered about Mary's well-being to think of the babies as anything more than potential for labor pains. Stan was very uncomfortable with pregnancy.

"Sweet peas and soldiers," Mary mused after thinking about all this. "Quite a combination."

"Still plugging away I hope."

"Oh, they're plugging away all right," Mary promised. "Probably too much. As far as I know, they're hanging in. I go back to the doctor on Friday when I hit thirty-three weeks."

"Marshall tells me you're getting close," Seth informed her, probably due to the fact that he'd just spoken to his son. "I could tell in his voice. He's got the jitters."

The woman snickered a little louder than she meant to, "Marshall's not nervous," she didn't even consider the possibility. "He's been ready since day one. He'll be fine. He just needs to get a good night's sleep."

And, speak of the devil, Mary's phone made its second squawking beep in the last five minutes. With a quick glance, she saw that it was Marshall at last. While she had little to report, at least two previous calls gave her something to talk about when her man insisted on doting over her.

"I'll have to take a rain check on the rest of this," she passed on to Seth. "Your boy wants to make sure I haven't fallen down a well."

It was the father's turn to laugh, "Then you'd better ease his mind," he approved. "You take care of yourself, doll. I'll talk to you soon."

"Bye…"

Mary was blushing slightly when she transferred to Marshall's ring, despising herself for being so pleased at the way Seth fawned on her. She pushed it out of her mind quickly; though she did hate yielding to such girlish aspects of herself she'd never known she'd had. Girl without father and all.

"Hey…" she got around to Marshall in an effort to forget about it.

"Hi," he replied. "How you doing? You feeling okay?"

"Yeah, Beatrix is keeping me warm," at least she could say this truthfully, not endeared to spending five minutes trying to convince Marshall of her well-being. "What are you up to? Stack of forms five feet high?"

"Something in that vicinity, yes," Marshall answered. "And something else as well. Tripp just called."

Mary furrowed her brow and sat up a little further in the throw pillows, "What? Why?" two questions at once. "I told him yesterday I wouldn't have any information for him until at least Thursday."

"It isn't so much that…" the taller of the two hedged briefly, but then went on. "He's pretty worked up about Maureen. I think he's worried she'll try and leave town before she's served with the custody papers, which would keep her under the eye of the court."

Mary exhaled slowly and tried, once again, not to blow her top. Maureen was known for doing things like this. Perhaps Tripp was just being paranoid, given everything he was about to drop in his mother's lap. While Mary didn't like it, she knew it had to be dealt with, especially if Tripp was calling the office every day.

"You think we should speak with her?" she inquired sharply. "Tell her we know about her little 'vacation' and that she better keep her ass in Albuquerque, or else?"

"I believe that would be a favorable idea," Marshall concurred. "If you're feeling up to it, and you want to wait until after lunch, I can go with you – meet her at her place."

While Mary had plenty to say about not needing an escort, she also knew Marshall had her best interests at heart here. When it came to Maureen, two heads were usually better than one anyway.

"Yeah, let's do that," she finally said. "I'll come by the office at noon."

"Copy that."

And he hung up.

XXX

**A/N: I have never written Seth before, which seems impossible, given how many stories I've penned! I killed him off in the Sam series, so that was a no-go. I didn't want to put him in the holiday series because I felt like Marshall's family would bog those down too much with so many kids already involved. And all the others are standalones where Mary and Marshall aren't together yet. So, this one felt like the right one to work him in! Hope you enjoyed Brandi too!**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Thanks again for the reviews! I can't tell you how much I enjoy reading them!**

XXX

Mary did not enjoy going to visit Maureen, other than the times she got to see Tripp. As she hoped he would not be present for this particular appointment so he wouldn't give his intentions away, it was unlikely to be any fun. She could assume Marshall had enough sense to schedule the meeting when Billy and Gretel would be in school, so they could get Maureen on her own. She hadn't stopped in on the floozy in quite some time. She doubted she even knew Mary was pregnant, a fact that didn't thrill the inspector. Most people tended to pull faces of amazement and shock at the sheer size of Mary's belly, something that got old very fast.

Marshall got things started once Maureen let them in, telling Mary to 'let him do the talking' initially. She agreed, knowing he needed to lay the groundwork before she ripped the woman a new one for throwing her kids to the curb like they were bags of trash. And breaking the rules of WITSEC to boot.

Mary lounged unattractively against Maureen's kitchen counter, examining her fingernails while Maureen bustled around throwing dirty clothes in a laundry basket. Marshall stood sentry while their witness scuttled all over the place, plainly not listening.

"I'm sorry the house is such a mess…" Maureen claimed absentmindedly, sniffing one of Billy's jerseys and finding it was definitely not clean. "The kids just throw things all over the place when they come home, and I haven't had time to do the laundry this week."

Mary had the strong, nasty suspicion that even Maureen's laundering was a show. If she hadn't known they were coming by, she would've let the clothes sit and stink for another week. The house bore many signs that she hadn't bothered to clean up. Stained milk glasses lay in the sink, along with plates that had not been scraped. A duffel bag of sports equipment was overflowing on the couch; baseball bats and gloves spilling out of it.

It wasn't the fact that the house was untidy that bothered Mary. It was the fact that it was noticeably not sanitary – beyond dust bunnies. There was a lingering smell; an air of grubbiness that didn't reside in their other witnesses' homes.

Nonetheless, Marshall played along with Maureen's game and let her get away with pretending to be a maid.

"It's perfectly all right," he told her courteously. "We did drop by unannounced."

He could see Mary glaring at him from her place by the counter, visibly displeased with his politeness. It was ingrained in him – the instinct to be sensible and kind. Mary had no such instincts, not when it came to self-centered individuals like Maureen.

"Was there something you wanted?" she inquired, still sounding harassed, shoving what looked like textbooks into a pile on the coffee table. "Honestly, how Billy manages to keep up with his schoolwork when he leaves all his books at home…"

Her admonition toward her middle child went unfinished while Mary gnawed her thumbnail and contemplated whether or not a true, devoted mother would know something like that. Shouldn't she be checking with Billy to see that he was, in fact, making the grade? Why did she take it for granted that he was?

"When you get a second," Marshall sought to respond to the woman's query. "Mary and I just had a few questions we wanted to ask you. I presume you have to be at work soon…" he glanced at his watch; Mary noticed the clock on the microwave said it was a little after one.

"At two," Maureen responded, blowing her fringy bangs out of her face and dumping the now brimming laundry basket on the couch. Mary guessed she must be suffering without Tripp living at home to tend to the housework. "But, what's on your mind?"

She did not even offer them a seat, not even Mary, who had indeed received the raised eyebrows and speculations about the bun in the oven from her wayward witness. She rarely corrected people, telling them there were actually two biscuits cooking, although most people seemed to guess given how big she was.

"Do you think we could…sit down?" Marshall asked cordially when Maureen gave no indication. "Mary's not supposed to be on her feet for long periods of time…" he ignored the dirty look his woman shot him. "You remember, I'm sure. It's not always easy being with child."

"Tell me about it," Maureen chortled, suddenly eager to share her experience. "Try doing it three times," and she gestured them to the kitchen table.

Mary was dying to snap that she was already working on two at once, and _would_ have three if not for the unfortunate circumstances surrounding Jamie, but when she opened her mouth, Marshall motioned for her to keep quiet. Biting her tongue wasn't easy, but it was important to save her malice for when Maureen really needed to hear it.

The three of them settled into chairs at the tiny round table, chairs that were hard and very unforgiving on Mary's ailing back. She saw Marshall watching her, but averted her eyes to their charge.

"So..." Maureen started, clearly trying to give off the air that she was occupied and did not have a lot of time. "What can I do for you guys?"

She had some nerve, Mary thought, planning to skip town and acting like everything was status quo. Marshall played it cool.

"We were just wondering how you and the kids were doing," he began rationally. "Mary talks to Tripp from time-to-time, and he fills her in, but we're just looking for a second update," he was such an effortless fibber. "We like to have all our ducks in a row," he even smiled.

Maureen, for all the idiocy she displayed, was not entirely stupid. She sensed the interrogation coming on and looked from Mary to Marshall and back again before deciding to keep her secrets in the vault.

"The kids are fine," she declared unabashedly. "It's true that Billy's not exactly been a thrill ride, but he's a high school boy. High school boys are impossible. I should know – I remember Tripp at that age."

Mary remembered Tripp at that age too. Folding laundry, entertaining his siblings, trying to keep strange and dangerous men out of his home; stitches in his arm, trying to decide between gutting it out or entering the foster care system. Something told her that Maureen was not remembering the same Tripp.

"Nothing out-of-the-ordinary for Billy though?" Marshall pressed easily. "Or Gretel?"

"Oh no, Gretel's great," and something along the lines of a genuine smile graced Maureen's otherwise tense features. "She's her mommy's girl."

A fist struck hard in the pit of Mary's stomach watching Maureen glow with pride at having pulled an eleven year old girl into her web of catastrophe. It was plain from her throwaway lines about Tripp and Billy that they were old news. They were hip to her game and she'd given up on them. Gretel was her only shot these days. Come hell or high water, she was going to try and get that little girl to New Orleans right under the nose of WITSEC.

With enormous difficulty, Mary buried the need to say all this out loud and concentrated hard on what Marshall was saying.

"Well, I'm glad Gretel is thriving," he acknowledged solemnly. "But, Mary and I are a little troubled about Tripp."

In spite of Marshall's tranquil, pure blue eyes and his understanding, peaceful nature, Maureen did not bite. She jeered with something resembling scorn and rolled her eyes.

"Tripp? Why?" she questioned; he was clearly not on her radar. "He get himself in a knot that he wants me to pull him out of? He left me in the dust years ago. Five miles between us and we never even see each other," she twirled a strand of her hair idly.

Mary was seized with the sudden longing to smack this careless, thoughtless woman. Tripp had as much as kept her alive and this was the thanks he got?

By the way Marshall's eyes darted back and forth across Mary's angry face – her pursed lips and the taut lines on her cheeks – he had guessed she was reaching her breaking point. Rather than have her explode and risk both herself and the welfare of their unborn children, he hurried to his point.

"Tripp's doing very well," he informed Maureen quickly. "But, he's told us that you have plans to pack up your life here and move to Louisiana."

Mary scrutinized the merest flicker of panic in Maureen's eyes; the blink was too well-timed, the way she glanced toward the door too convenient. A million things were whirling in her head right now. Tripp had tattled to these meddlesome busybodies and now she was paying for it.

This did not come out her mouth, however.

"Oh yeah, I've been meaning to talk to you about that…" she waved a hand so flippant that Mary wanted to hit it out of the way. "I just hadn't gotten around to it yet. Tripp's just being dramatic – trying to tell me how to raise my own kids."

Mary narrowed her eyebrows, truly unable to fathom that now that Maureen had gotten caught with her hand in the cookie jar, she was going to pretend she didn't know she'd been doing anything wrong. She'd been a resident of Albuquerque WITSEC for upwards of six years. She knew the drill. Her ignorance didn't fool Mary one iota.

"Is that to say you're not planning on going?" Marshall prodded, latching onto the comment about Tripp's melodrama. "Because, I am afraid that is the only response either Mary or I can accept."

Maureen looked from one face to the other – the woman's stony and oppressive, the man's sympathetic but firm. To Mary's utter astonishment, she threw her head back and laughed. Marshall clearly thought they were home free, but Mary knew better.

"You're not serious," Maureen stated baldly. "Come on. You can't expect me to stay here in Albuquerque _forever_. It's a ghost town…"

And this was where Mary lost her patience. What was it about certain people, where they didn't understand that WITSEC was permanent? Why did they think that the rules didn't apply to them? That they were somehow special or exempt? The concept was not difficult, and she'd been round-and-round on this ride with Maureen before.

The inspector flung herself forward so abruptly that the other woman jumped, losing her smile right off the bat.

"WITSEC is _forever_," Mary spat harshly. "Forever as in _not temporary_ – everlasting, eternal, that kind of thing," she waved a wild hand as she explained for the fiftieth time. "Jesus. Your son got that better than you when he was sixteen."

"Don't you talk to me about my son," Maureen pointed a jabbing finger, completely missing the real root of Mary's words. "It's because of you that he hates me; you had your nose in our business from the very beginning…"

"Fortunately, that's my job," Mary reminded her coldly. "To make sure imbeciles like you don't flee the state after – what is it? – boyfriend number six hundred comes knocking on your door. You want to go – fine!" she swiped her hand over her head again, this time toward the door. "But, you can kiss WITSEC and our protection goodbye. Live life a little dangerously – see if Albert and his computer chip cronies are still looking for you and your three kids."

Following this speech, she slumped back in her chair because it bothered her back too much to lean forward like she had been. She didn't regret sacrificing her limbs to get through to Maureen, however, who was scowling heavily. Mary could see the wheels turning in her brain of how to refute the inspector's words. The Marshal simply sat with her arms crossed and waited for Marshall to detail the circumstances in a more lucid manner.

"Maureen, what Mary says is true," he emphasized with an almost pitying look in his pale blue eyes. "I'm sorry, but it isn't up to you. You can't live wherever you want if you wish to continue to rely on the safety WITSEC provides for you," it was as though they were in their very first meeting, a realization that infuriated Mary further. "And I have to tell you, for the sake of yourself and for the sake of your children, it is imperative that you stay here in New Mexico."

Maureen looked wholly unconvinced, and kept shooting Mary nasty looks. Mary knew the woman couldn't stand her; knew she resented Mary essentially mothering Tripp while he was in high school. It was her too bad at this point. The damage had been done.

But apparently, Maureen had a few more bridges to burn, and she wasn't going to waste time looking for matches.

"What if I went…you know…?" she shrugged in an attempt to look offhand. "By myself. Keith and I have already started looking at houses in New Orleans…"

Mary exhaled loudly at the mention of the boyfriend.

"The kids can stay in WITSEC and I can opt out."

The fury in Mary's chest bubbled to the surface so fast she couldn't stop herself. She was slightly liberated to see that Marshall was as flummoxed as she was, but he wouldn't take care of the beating Maureen needed to the side of her head at such an asinine idea.

"Are you _insane_?" she barked, though she already knew the answer. "You would jeopardize _your_ safety – risk your _children_ not having a mother – to run off to hurricane-central with some pimp?!"

"How dare you!" Maureen shrieked, and she stood up, expanding herself to her full height.

Mary did the same, though it was harder in her case, but no less impressive, "You are the worst excuse for a parent I've ever seen! You would really leave your kids to fend for themselves here in what you called a ghost town?"

"Tripp can look after them!" Maureen insisted, a statement that only spiked Mary's ire. "Well, he and Billy can look after each other. I'm not leaving Gretel here…"

Mary smacked her hands on the kitchen table in frustration, "So, now you want to put her in limbo too? Keep her from the two people who have done everything they can to make sure she stays alive? Because God knows she's not still breathing because of you!"

"I'm not having this conversation with you!" Maureen shouted hoarsely. She waved a finger toward the door just as Marshall stood up and tried to come between them, hands flapping pointlessly. "Get the hell out of my house! I'll do what I want – _I'm_ their mother! Nothing will ever change that!"

Mary could see the whites of her eyes popping; she could also feel her own strain, particularly in her ankles, loaded down with extra weight and water, but she surpassed the feeling.

"You only want to be a mother when there isn't some guy sniffing around your bedroom looking to get some…"

"At least I _have_ a social life," was her weak defense. And before Mary could scoff, she'd beat her to the punch. "Some of us are so desperate to play mommy we'll sleep with the first warm body available…" her eyes flashed deviously to Marshall, then to Mary's belly. "Shame. I feel so bad for the child who discovers daddy only slept with mommy out of…_pity_…"

Mary had reached across the table and grabbed a fistful of Maureen's shirt so fast that she almost dragged the other woman facedown onto the table.

"You smug, self-serving bitch…"

"Mary! MARY!" Marshall grabbed her fingers and wrenched them loose of Maureen's collar. "Stop it! That's enough!"

Breathing hard, she obeyed, shooting daggers at Maureen, who looked arrogant and self-satisfied. Unfortunately, Marshall was livid that she'd lost her temper; she could see from how set his jaw was. His eyes had turned grey; steely. They flashed dangerously, his ire mounting as well.

"I want you to go wait outside," he ordered tersely, the bones in his neck jutting out. "Now. I'll be there in a minute."

Mary desperately wanted to fight him, to reprimand him for treating her like an infant when she had every right to throttle Maureen. Instead, she settled for glowering sinisterly, but she did as he said, back through the living room, and out the front door. There, she wrenched open the door of Marshall's SUV and eased herself into the passenger seat, sitting with her legs dangling out the door.

Marshall was gone longer than Mary expected him to be, which gave her time to mull over everything that had just gone down – and to sweat through her shirt in the excruciating heat. The sun was out, beating heavy and bright above her neck; she could already feel her hair dripping into ringlets around her face. She leaned her head against the back of the seat and tried to make sense of everything Maureen had doled out.

She knew she should be worried about Tripp, Billy, and Gretel – and she was. But, at the moment, she was fixating on what Maureen had shouted at her in her rage. Mary had-had plenty of people – witnesses and otherwise – spew unflattering facts at her, and she usually wasn't insulted. Still, this woman – this harlot masquerading as a mother – had definitely touched a nerve.

Ever since she'd miscarried and lost Jamie the year before, Mary had pondered whether Marshall was only with her because he felt sorry for her. Deep down, she knew this wasn't true, but it was hard not to wonder considering the circumstances surrounding their hook-up. After all, they rarely, if ever said that they loved each other. Granted, neither felt they needed to – it was implied – and their aversion to 'labeling' their relationship prevented them from doing so.

It had been Mary who had confessed her adoration on a rain-washed, stormy night. It had been Mary who had clung to Marshall when Jamie had gone. It had been Mary who had admitted she wanted to have Marshall's children. Could she count on him as more than a dear and loyal friend who didn't want to let his treasured partner down?

She was so absorbed in her thoughts she almost didn't notice Marshall return. She snapped from her reverie as he came marching down the front walk, with long and purposeful strides. She came out of it just long enough to turn around and buckle her seatbelt – a harder task than usual, given her earth-sized stomach.

She was still vacant when he launched in after shutting the driver's side door.

"I wish you hadn't done that."

She registered that he still sounded frustrated, but his initial rage had died. She couldn't even be sure what he was talking about – did he wish she hadn't hollered, or did he wish she hadn't tried to wring Maureen's neck?

Mary decided it didn't really matter.

"Sorry," she breathed softly.

Somewhat to her chagrin, Marshall seemed surprised she'd expressed any form of culpability. She could see him arch his eyebrows out the corner of her lids, though she was determinedly looking forward even in her inattentiveness.

"Sorry?" he repeated doubtfully.

Mary sighed, wishing he would start the car so they could turn the air on. She was beginning to feel gross.

"I wasn't thinking of the kids. I was thinking of myself. I let her get to me and I can't do that if I want my stress level to stay down."

It was all very matter-of-fact, and while she expected more surprise from Marshall about her sudden practicality, he backed down after hearing such sincerity. Mary turned her eyes a fraction of an inch to see his shoulders sink; he even shook his head, internally berating himself for trying to tell her what to do when she already knew the risks.

"That's very perceptive of you…" he patted Mary's shoulder gently. "But, it's okay. We're all allowed a slip now and then," referring to her escalated shouting match with Maureen. "All of this is not to say she didn't deserve your thrashing."

At this, Mary faced him completely, and he was smirking from where he sat behind the wheel. Mary could've sworn there was a hint of approval in his weary, lined face. She recognized it in the way his blue eyes twinkled, like the first stars popping out in a velvety night sky.

"I like a woman who can hold her own," and still smirking.

Mary tried to smile back, but the motion didn't make it onto her face. The muscles in her mouth worked to create that grin, but the effort seemed unusually strenuous. She settled for a half-smile instead, submissive and reconciled.

But, when she didn't articulate anything to all his tributes, he tried to stimulate her a bit further.

"You're not feeling bad, are you?" Mary could guess he meant physically. "You turned it off pretty fast; I assumed you were fine, but…"

"No, I'm good," she nodded in what she hoped was a convincing way. "I'm just…I'm hot…" she tugged at the neck of her shirt as she said it, and this had Marshall zeroing in on other aspects of her roasted nature.

"Let's get going then," he suggested, inserting the key in the ignition, where the air conditioning blasts immediately sprung into life. "I have to go back to the office; I promised Stan I'd meet with a new witness. Do you want to come or do you want me to take you back home?"

He paused in leaving the drive to wait for her answer. In truth, Mary was surprised she got a choice. Given her outburst with Maureen, she figured Marshall would expect her to take it easy the rest of the afternoon. Maybe he thought that since she'd relaxed that morning, she was free to do what she liked for the remainder of the day.

"I can do some paperwork at the office…" she told him rather meekly, her mind still on Maureen's words.

To her displeasure, he picked up on her tone and tipped his chin downward, the better to probe her wide green eyes.

"Are you sure you're all right?" he wanted to know. And, cluing in a little, "Did Maureen upset you?"

"No," Mary said at once, but she knew instantly that she'd sounded defensive. "I mean…okay…" she backpedaled, trying to appear frankly aloof. "I don't _love_ sparring with her and what she said wasn't exactly fun to hear, but…"

She'd been about to make excuses for why this wasn't a big deal, but Marshall stopped her in her tracks, "She's wrong," he declared boldly, looking her straight in the face. "She's wrong, and she had no business talking to you that way. I can assure you I let her know just how far a line she crossed by engaging that way with a federal Marshal – a pregnant federal Marshal."

Mary groaned at the thought that he had tacked that on the end, but it was classic Marshall. In hearing this, he went the extra mile to ensure that she was not dwelling on his reasons for shacking up with her.

"You have to know that we are not together because of anything even in the realm of 'pity,'" he promised graciously. "I am with you because I love you, plain and simple."

Mary ought to have known he'd wrap it all in a bow by throwing out 'the L-word.' It made everything nice and tidy; solved every problem. But, Mary knew that he'd loved her before they'd gotten together; him saying it now didn't prove anything.

Don't be ridiculous, she told herself. Of course he was in love with her. She was pregnant with his children. He fell all over himself and neglected his sleep schedule just to keep her happy. If that wasn't love, what was?

"Right," she nodded slowly. "I know you do."

Why didn't she say it back? Was she worried he had the same misgivings about her that she was having about him? Her brain was too fried to wade through that sort of logic.

"I'm just thinking about Tripp," she used this as a pretext for her behavior once again. "He's going to have a tough time pulling Gretel from Maureen. She's really gonna be pissed when she finds out he's trying to get custody."

"On the bright side, it looks like Billy will be no problem," Marshall concluded, accepting Mary's justification for how timid she was at face value. "Although, I do not know if most would consider that a bright side. The fact that she is willing to leave Tripp and Billy behind speaks volumes."

That it did, Mary thought. She knew all too well how it felt to have a parent abandon you on the doorstep. Perhaps that was why she was obsessing over Tripp, not to mention whether Marshall was with her for the right reasons, or the wrong ones.

XXX

**A/N: Mary wouldn't be Mary without her share of doubt – even if it was inspired by crazy Maureen! She was never a witness I took to, even though I love Tripp and the gang! And Marshall's always there to keep everybody in check! ;) **


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Thanks to those of you who are reading. This is a little bit of a longer chapter, but not by much.**

XXX

It was an odd sort of night in the Mann-Shannon household. Mary was able to push her qualms about Marshall and his feelings from her mind; having work to finish always helped. It was Marshall himself who seemed rather distracted. He was very quiet the majority of the evening, cooking dinner while Mary worked on paying bills at the island. She knew it was best to do it when she felt halfway decent; after spending the morning at home, she was strangely energized by her scuffle with Maureen.

Marshall, however, poked at a pan of white rice on the stove while the chicken he'd already cooked sizzled on the counter. He didn't appear to be present, as he stared rather blankly out the window at the heat waves simmering in the sky beyond. Mary was willing to suppose he was simply tired, considering how little rest he'd gotten the past few days.

"You know, my sister thinks you and I need a bigger house…" she commented while she looked over the mortgage payment. She munched a few raw carrots Marshall had dumped on the counter in his search of the fridge. "If she saw how much we were paying for this one, she'd change her tune."

It took Marshall a moment to notice she was speaking, but when he did, he turned around and made a solid effort at continuing the conversation.

"You've never thought about a larger place?" he deliberated, playing devil's advocate. "This one is the perfect size for the two of us and two kids, but that guest room – soon-to-be-nursery – is rather undersized."

Mary shook her head, "We can't buy a whole new house just for one room," she informed him. "The kids will manage."

"We're lucky they start out small," he quipped. "Having them share that room at an older age will be tricky business, but I suppose we can cross that bridge when we come to it."

Mary took pause at his second phrase, all of a sudden trying to picture a faceless boy and girl crammed into the room down the hall that was currently empty. She put the calculator she was using on the tabletop, the image becoming stronger the longer she thought about it. She didn't even know if there was space for two twin beds in that room; it had scarcely held the queen before Jinx had taken it. Between two dressers and anything else the children might want, it was going to be a tight fit indeed.

"You really don't think they'll fit in there?" she asked several minutes later.

To her surprise, Marshall had turned back to the stove and was looking out the window once more. He stuck the rice with a wooden spoon to keep it from clumping together. Mary gave him a minute to respond, but he kept his pastel eyes fixed on the yard. She was forced to deduce that he hadn't heard her.

"Marshall?"

This time, he whipped around, blinking fast like he'd fallen asleep standing up. Mary raised one eyebrow, wondering what this behavior was about. First, she got on with her question.

"I asked if you really don't think there will be enough room for the kids down the hall," she repeated nearly word-for-word.

He reacted so quickly Mary had to wonder if he'd really been listening to what she'd said. Granted, he had obviously heard, but Marshall usually took more care to analyze her inquiries – the tone in her voice, whether she was fretting, whether it was important or not. He seemed to counter on auto-pilot.

"Oh, no…" he assured her steadily. "There's more than enough breathing space at the moment. I checked the length and width of those cribs; they'll fit just fine along with the dresser and changing table," he sounded much too scientific, even for Marshall. "It's just something to consider for the future." And then, as though Mary had been in some sort of tizzy, "Don't worry."

Mary was starting to feel confused. Her partner sounded strangely monotonous, even as he urged her not to get worked up. Now that she really and truly looked at him, she saw how worn out he appeared. His skin was pale and she could ascertain patches of bristles on his cheeks, meaning he hadn't been taking much care while shaving. If she squinted, she thought his shirt looked wrinkled as well; a definite sign that he was skimping if he hadn't ironed.

Nonetheless, there he stood, trying to appear perfectly mundane while he fixed their dinner and Mary gnawed carrots.

"Are you okay?" she solicited casually, crunching loudly on her vegetable. "I can finish that if you want to rest for awhile," she indicated the rice.

"No, I've got it," he insisted, offering a meager smile. "I want you to relax."

Mary couldn't help but be annoyed by this remark. Though she heard it all-too-often, she was plainly not exhausted at the moment and was perfectly capable of taking over the cooking.

"Marshall, get real," she requested, sounding very much like her old self. "I think I can handle cutting chicken. You look awful," there was no point in pretending. "You should go to bed early tonight; you haven't slept well since you got back from Wyoming."

"As I understand it, you haven't been catching many winks either," he reminded her in his best scholarly voice. "I don't like to think of you vomiting at all hours by yourself."

"It is hardly 'at all hours,'" she was peeved by the drama. "And, I wouldn't need an audience even if it were. What's there to see?"

He merely shrugged, visibly without a plausible defense for wanting to be at her beck-and-call twenty-four-seven. In seeing his eyes droop, as though he had something to be ashamed of, Mary suddenly felt badly she'd tried to stomp on his chivalry and hastened to explain what she meant.

"Marshall."

It was sharp, short, and sweet. It was the tone that made him leave the rice completely when she beckoned him with three fingers to come closer, so he was right in front of her where she sat at the island. He had the distinct air of someone who was about to be scolded, but that wasn't what Mary had in mind.

"I…" Mary attempted being careful. "I…I appreciate that you want to take such good care of me," she swallowed, never having thought such a phrase would leave her lips. She couldn't let it sit so starkly, "Only, if you let that get around, I can promise you will find my glock clocked at your back when you least expect it."

Marshall chuckled feebly and nodded, "Noted."

"I get that you think I need tending to, but your life doesn't have to stop just because I'm pregnant," she enlightened him gradually. "Worry about yourself – not just me. Being a walking zombie doesn't help me any."

Marshall seemed to realize that it was quite the role reversal for Mary to be the calm one and him to be the one that needed instruction. He smiled again and craned his neck to leave a gentle peck on her cheek. She stopped him before he could get away and allowed her lips to slip further to the right, capturing him for a full kiss. He deepened slowly; she could feel him breathing through his nose, reveling in how much they could say without speaking.

When she let him pull away, he did seem slightly cheered.

"Thanks for the pep talk, partner," he praised lightly. "I'll tone it down."

"Good," Mary approved.

"And, I would be lying if I said you were all that I am worried about…"

Mary became instantly curious, "There's something else?" as he migrated back to the burner to take the rice off.

She let him mull for a moment, watching him take the pan of rice and sit it next to the chicken to thicken. He added some salt to his mixture before turning from their supper to reply to her so far unanswered question.

"I was just thinking about Tripp," he admitted. "Given all that went on with Maureen today."

Mary pushed the bills aside with her elbow, deciding they could wait. She was the one who always checked in on Tripp, not Marshall. He had been her charge from the very beginning. Mary would not go so far as to call him 'her baby' the way some executives talked about their projects. But, nonetheless, he pressed on her mind due to the way his adolescence so resembled her own. She hadn't really considered the idea that Marshall reflected on his existence as well.

"Well, she's gonna be pissed as hell when she finds out he wants to snatch Gretel," Mary referenced Maureen. "But, you concede she deserves it at this point, given that she's planning on ditching both Tripp and Billy," the inspector just took it for granted that Marshall felt the same way she did.

But, he hesitated before going on, "…I find it hard to determine whether a mother really _deserves_ to have her children taken from her," he shared, still looking somewhat preoccupied. "Maureen hasn't done herself any favors, but I don't relish watching her struggle to keep hold of Gretel when she is met with Tripp's plans."

Mary did not agree with this view and huffed contemptuously, blowing her hair out of her eyes. She felt the hair follicles on her arms rise in the additional breeze she'd created, to go along with the one from the gusting air conditioner.

"This isn't a play we watch unfold, Marshall," she told him simply. "It's just what needs to be done. It's not like I'm _savoring_ Maureen being declared an unfit mother, but Tripp has paid his dues. He's been one-up on her in the responsibility department since day one."

Marshall just shrugged, pulling plates down from the upper cabinets and beginning to spoon rice onto each. Beatrix sauntered in at the sound of clinking cutlery and leapt onto the island, prancing all over Mary's envelopes. The woman shoved her away, and whisked her carrots from under the beast's nose as well.

Something deep inside Mary started to rear its head, and she goaded her partner into responding without thinking.

"Marshall," and it was in a much more callous tone than it had been in minutes before. She sat up straighter, Beatrix still sniffing hopefully. "Are you saying you think Maureen warrants another chance?"

"No…" he shook his head slowly. "How many pieces of chicken do you want?"

"Two," Mary replied instantly, knowing Beatrix would receive the remnants of the poultry. "So, why are you all anxious about Maureen if she's dug her own grave?" the blonde picked up the thread quickly.

"It's not really Maureen I'm anxious about," Marshall clarified solemnly, placing the lid on the pan of leftover rice and slicing his pieces of chicken in the center. "Although, I do think you are slightly biased given your own situation with your mother and father in your youth…"

His voice tapered off after he said this, almost as though he was hoping that Mary wouldn't hear. She did hear, and she wasn't as mad as he was anticipating. Exasperated, yes, but not really mad. If he'd truly been on their witnesses' side and used this fact against her, she'd have been mad. As it was, he was purely putting the notion on the table to suggest that Mary was not entirely impartial.

She even let him finish, which he did in kind, "This may be the very best decision for Tripp, Billy, and Gretel, but that doesn't mean it won't be difficult for them," he reasoned, carrying their plates to the island where Mary was still seated. "Think how you would've felt if Jinx had ever expressed that she didn't especially care whether you and Brandi were safe or not, so long as she could fuel her own desires."

He was echoing Maureen's sentiments that she could leave Tripp and Billy in Albuquerque. While Mary understood the similarities Marshall was presenting, the scenarios weren't quite the same. For all of Jinx's faults, Mary had usually been confident in one thing. She wouldn't ditch her girls the way that James had. If nothing else, the eldest daughter had known when she was Tripp's age that Jinx had no one else to depend upon, which kept her from leaving her children in the rearview.

"That was more my father's department," she refreshed Marshall's memory as she heard his theory, watching him sit down, and grumbling under her breath.

"And I certainly trust you remember how much it hurt when he ran out on you at that tender age of seven."

How could she have forgotten when it had defined her for so long? Marshall's attempt at connecting the dots between Mary and Tripp, an exercise that had once been cathartic for the woman, now made her rather restless. Anything that reminded her of James had that effect.

"I'm just saying," Marshall commenced through a mouthful of chicken, inhaling his dinner across from her. "This is not an easy development, no two ways about it."

It was just like Marshall to consider Tripp's case from all angles, to view it differently than Mary would because it hit a little too close to home. Even so, she got tired of discussing her father in a hurry, and seized the silence in both fists, striving toward a different topic.

"Speaking of dads," she fell back on her statement about James. "Yours called this morning – said he'd talked to you."

"Oh yeah, we spoke just as I got into work; I didn't have a lot of time," he claimed. "I didn't know he'd phoned you as well."

"Yeah," Mary reasserted, shoveling in rice. "Just wanted to know how I was holding up. He's gotten pretty laid-back since he retired."

"I've noticed that too," Marshall agreed. "It is a refreshing change of pace. He seems rather enthralled at the prospect of the kids on their way," this elicited a natural grin, one that had Mary repeating the gesture. "Picturing my dad – head of Operation Falcon – as a grandfather is almost impossible, I must admit."

"Like Brandi in a suit and high heels," Mary cut in, recalling who else she'd talked to that A.M., but Marshall didn't seem to pick up on her aside.

"It's nice that he's so pleased though," the man went on as though there had been no interruption. "I welcome the idea of Frick and Frack having a genial grandpa. He and Stan will fill the role more the adequately."

Mary settled for nodding and prodding Beatrix away from her food when she heard this. A sinking sensation had settled in her chest, knowing the twins' only options for grandfathers were Seth and their boss. Though she knew it was unwise to admit it, she still mourned the cold hard truth in that James would not be the ancestor spun from her most whimsical fantasies.

"I've gotta pee," she announced out of nowhere, abandoning her fork, suddenly struck with the awareness, as she often was. "Don't let Bean Brain here devour my chicken, okay?" she jutted her finger at the cat.

"Consider it done," Marshall swore.

Mary slipped herself carefully off the stool, making absolutely sure that her feet were going to hit solid ground when she stretched upright. The minute she had straightened, but before she could stake her path to the bathroom, several things happened at once.

A most peculiar and jarring sensation rippled from the lower half of her ribcage to the depths of her mountainous belly. She had the distinct impression that something resembling a watermelon had rolled from the ridge of her stomach to the bottom, settling hard and round as low as it possibly could without the ball actually falling out.

Mary gasped out of pure surprise and being caught off guard, not thinking about the fact that Marshall could see her. The rotation and stirring was grating, if not slightly uncomfortable, but it was over as quickly as it had come.

Marshall's eyes snapped upward in an instant, "What?" he demanded upon hearing her spiked exhale and seeing her right hand rove over her belly.

She was planning to describe what had just occurred, fully intending to ask him if he had any clues to what had gone on within her uterus.

"I…um…"

It was all she got out before she realized the ruckus wasn't over. She felt a burning and tightening way up inside her ribcage; a power that seemed to scorch her chest; flaring from the lowest bones to the highest. At the exact same moment, a force expanded against the crest of her tummy, like something was trying to claw its way through her skin.

The whole experience was so unexpectedly painful that Mary could not stop herself from wincing and accompanying it with a second gasp.

"Christ…"

She breathed slowly through her nose and then out her mouth, trying to will the discomfort to die. When she pinched her eyes shut in an effort to cope, she just barely saw Marshall spring from his seat and dash over to her.

"What's the matter?" his challenging tone had disappeared, to be replaced by a quiet, gentle one. "You okay?"

Mary could not answer right away. The pressure against the peak of her belly did taper within a few seconds, but the burning still lingered in her ribs, as did the heaviness where she'd felt the bowling ball slide beneath.

"I…I don't know…" she finally managed, but speaking made her ribs ache, so she stopped. Marshall's hand on her forearm made her open up again anyway. "Damn…" she cursed once more, sneaking in another low exhale. "It really hurts…"

Marshall undoubtedly noticed how she was straining to speak and watched her curl up briefly, attempting to squash the pain their children were inflicting. His hand immediately moved to her arched back and rubbed slowly, in neat little circles.

"Take a deep breath…" he advised predictably. "Breathe deep…"

He heard her do so and, after several long seconds, she resumed her standing position, looking to be slightly more centered. Nonetheless, her cheeks were flushed and her hands were trembling slightly, in spite of leaving the worst of the pain behind.

"I…I don't know what happened…" Mary told him hoarsely, shaken by having her entire stomach turned over in a matter of minutes. "It just…something shifted…and it hurt…"

Marshall was still rubbing her back tenderly, watching her for more signs of throbbing. She continued to breathe, though she wasn't certain it was helping. If nothing else, it made her feel like she was still alive.

"Does is still hurt?" he inquired softly.

Mary shook her head, "Not like it did."

"What did you feel?"

Between breaths, Mary did her best to recount the sensation, but it was hard. There really were not any appropriate phrases to describe the way she'd been sure that her belly was having a complete overhaul, about to disgorge the twins in a flurry of bursting intestines and splintered ribs.

Regardless, after trying to make Marshall understand, she had a sudden, horrifying thought and she stopped midsentence.

"And then I felt like my ribs…"

Marshall narrowed his brows at the pause in her story, "Your ribs? What happened to your ribs?" he pushed.

Mary stared blankly, pondering how ridiculous this would sound if she wasn't right. On the other hand, Marshall wouldn't know the difference. He wasn't the one who was pregnant.

"I wonder if they moved," she guessed in a hushed, almost frightened voice.

"If they moved?" he repeated, referring to the babies and focusing on how stunned his woman suddenly looked. "Don't they move all the time?"

"No, I mean…"

Another abrupt inspiration struck her, a word Marshall had dictated in his many readings about her condition. It was the only thing that fit. The only thing that made sense.

"I think…they might've dropped."

Comprehension dawned on his face almost at once, and it was followed by a kind of hungry anticipation. His eyes lit up and a reluctant grin snuck into his otherwise drained features. Regardless of Mary's obvious apprehension where this was concerned, he knew far more about it and couldn't help being eager.

"Well, not both of them," he started to say rationally, doing a very poor job at hiding his enthusiasm. "One of them – that was probably Baby A's head descending; the rolling sort of feeling you just talked about."

And Mary knew he had to be right, "That's the girl, then. Baby A is the girl."

"Right," Marshall nodded.

"Then I guess…the boy must've…scrunched up…or something…" she was thinking out loud as she went along. "To give her room. Into my ribs," involuntarily, she caressed the spot where she'd felt that blaze.

"Ouch," Marshall declared sympathetically.

Mary sighed again, grateful to have figured out what had happened, but now feeling increasingly nervous. It looked as though Marshall's promise to 'tone it down' wasn't going to hold up. He'd schooled her constantly on all the symptoms she could be experiencing during pregnancy, and this was something she'd heard about, but definitely not predicted – not in such a brutal manner anyway.

She was sure she appeared wide-eyed and scared, because it was certainly how she felt. Plus, she was still reeling from the great migration; while no longer in pain, she was definitely uncomfortable.

"Take it easy," Marshall advised in seeing her rising craze. "Remember to breathe. It's natural," he assured her. "I'm sorry it hurt so much though. I didn't think it would happen quite like that."

Mary shook her head, more facets coming back to her by the moment. She knew if she didn't ask now, she never would, which would give Marshall more reasons to worry about her if she became introverted. Better to get the fears out in the open while she had the chance.

"Does…doesn't the dropping…?" she stuttered unfashionably. "Doesn't that mean…they'll be born…sooner?" it was exerting her stamina to get all the words out.

Marshall fed her a compassionate smile, "Not necessarily," he said honestly. "It can happen anytime toward the end, and sometimes in shifts. We'll just have to keep an eye on things, which we're already doing."

Mary nodded this time, boosted slightly by his knowledge on the subject. It did help.

"Okay…" she replied slowly. "Yeah. Right."

Not wanting to force the issue, Marshall squeezed her shoulder lightly, "Go use the bathroom," he reminded her in case she'd forgotten. "Then we'll come back and have dinner, okay?"

Dinner. Surely Mary could manage dinner. Though, the list of things she could manage without feeling plagued with worry seemed to be getting shorter and shorter.

XXX

**A/N: From all I've read, sometimes you can tell when a twin drops, and sometimes you can't – sometimes you don't even notice, and other times it's a big shift. So, of course I went with the most dramatic method!**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: I hope everyone is still enjoying this! I'm never sure with my own writing – we are our own worst critic's, or so they say.**

XXX

Mary was appreciative that both her and Marshall obtained a decent night of rest going into Wednesday – or, she could assume Marshall did, because she crashed for a good six hours between eleven and five o'clock. Once the pink, filtered light of dawn began to creep its way through the net curtains, she had trouble drifting back into dreamland. She couldn't complain too heartily. Six hours was much better than usual.

Unfortunately, the twins also seemed to have altered their positions in the lengthy night. The only saving grace of this development was that Mary's son wasn't curled up against her ribs anymore; he alone appeared to have settled down. Her daughter, if it was indeed Baby A that had slid down as Marshall had predicted, had gotten all-too-comfortable in the location she'd discovered the night before. She was hanging, lodged in Mary's pelvis, so that her entire belly felt like it was sagging with the weight of one baby up high and the other very low.

At Marshall's urging when he saw how heavily she slogged through a quiet morning at the office, she skipped the afternoon to go shopping with Jinx. Acquiring all the necessities for the kids wasn't Mary's idea of a fun time, and especially not with Jinx, but she took her lumps on this one. It was important to Marshall and had to be done.

The start of the shopping trip wasn't too bad. Mary let Jinx pick whatever she wanted in the way of blankets, towels, and bottles, as one was as good as the next. She loaded the shopping cart with item after item, surreptitiously skipping stuffed animals, mobiles, and anything else that played into the currently deficient nursery design.

It was when they hit the clothing section that Mary noticed a problem. She was going to have to make choices here if she didn't want Jinx buying anything too sickeningly cutesy. She was already tired from being on her swollen feet all day.

"Are you all right, dear?" her mother proposed as Mary dragged herself over to a rack of sleepers and swept through them absentmindedly. "Do you want to stop for the day? We can come back this weekend."

Mary shook her head, "No. Let's just get it done," she didn't want to admit she was concerned they'd already have babies by the weekend.

"Are you sure?" Jinx almost begged when Mary didn't make eye contact, seemingly intent on the onesies. "I can't help noticing…" she vacillated, clearly wondering if it was smart to bring up what she was thinking. She decided to risk it, "I can't help noticing you're walking sort of funny."

Mary spared a moment to shoot Jinx a very disdainful glance, although she hadn't expected her mother to miss her new straddle-waddle, even with her caught up in grandchild-euphoria.

"Funny how?" she played dumb as long as she could, pretending to be interested in all the fabrics there were to pick from.

"Well, I don't know…" the brunette hedged, but Mary decided to head her off before this got too far.

"One of the kids dropped last night; Marshall thinks it was the girl," she shared neutrally, not going to give away even a hint of nervousness. "It's like there's a frozen turkey between my legs."

"Oh, sweet girl…" Jinx emitted a chiming giggle as she stepped closer and fingered Mary's hair lovingly. "You poor thing. It's so hard at the end."

Mary had the impulse to shout several things upon hearing this, none of which made it into the open because she desired keeping the peace more. Mostly, she wished to plead with her mother not to call thirty-two weeks 'the end.' True, she would hit thirty-three on Friday, but there was still supposed to be so much more time to spare. The twins could not be born now. It was too soon and they'd be too little.

Additionally, she fought the compulsion to chastise her mother for comparing a twin pregnancy to a singleton one, as if she could really relate. Something told Mary that Jinx had never experienced the commotion caused by one child biting its way through her ribs while the other threatened to fall right out and onto the floor without warning.

Nonetheless, she swallowed her true feelings and shook her head laboriously.

"The end's a long way away yet," she settled on a portion of what she was thinking. "Help me pick some clothes. I at least want to get something for them to wear home from the hospital."

Jinx was boosted by this idea and set to work at once, "Then come over here, honey," she yanked Mary by the arm to a two-tier table filled with folded sleepers in pastel colors. "These are all very simple; nothing too flashy or sequined."

Mary certainly approved of anything that didn't involve glitter and started pawing through the knit pieces, Jinx by her side. She noticed as they searched that her mother was surprisingly deliberate. She re-creased every article of clothing she unfolded, so it sat pristine and unspoiled atop the stack once more.

"You could work for the cleaners or something, mom," Mary commented to avoid a silence wrapping them up. "The way you fold."

Jinx chuckled, "Well, I've done a few loads of laundry in my time."

"Funny…" her daughter responded. "I don't really remember you doing much laundry when I was a kid."

She kept her tone light and breezy, so Jinx wouldn't think she was being insulting. Indeed, it was not her intention to defame her mother at all; she really was just trying to state an actuality. She truly did not recall Jinx having anything to do with washers and dryers in her youth.

"Maybe not when you were little…" the shorter of the two amended, sounding only marginally guilty. "But, later on. Like when I moved out of your place after I got the teaching position at the studio," the way she scoffed convinced Mary that she too was trying to make a simple joke. "Better late than never, right?"

Mary nodded, smirking slightly as she examined a sleeper in mint green printed with tiny yellow ducks, "Right," she conceded.

"That's sweet…" Jinx indicated the onesie with a raised nail, reaching out to trace the print. "I mean, I know you're not really a fan of animals, you said…" her tone petered out, clearly remembering Mary's aversion to the wild kingdom when they'd talked about nurseries two nights before.

This rang a bell for Mary, in that Jinx had confided her oldest daughter's attitude to Brandi, meaning she was likely still festering over their less-than-successful dinner.

"Mom…" she started to say, bypassing Jinx's opinions about the green sleeper. "I'm sorry I was so cranky at the restaurant the other night," she shrugged in an offhand way, not wishing to brood. "I've just got…a lot of things on my mind," she fabricated, hoping they could leave it at that.

Fortunately, she could tell at once that Jinx had accepted the apology. Her forest-shaded eyes softened and she abandoned the clothing all together, giving Mary a warm, soothing sort of smile. Oddly enough, it put Mary at ease too. The glance made her feel like she had a mother that doted and coddled her – the way mothers were supposed to. The mother she was hoping to be.

"I understand, sweetheart," she assured her, caressing her upper arm. Her fat upper arm. "Brandi and I have been throwing some thoughts around when it comes to the nursery, just like you asked," she swore. "We'll figure something out."

"Okay…" Mary bobbed her head. "But, let's worry about the clothes for now. If we don't, the kids are headed home naked."

"Well, that is how they arrive," Jinx grinned. "In their birthday suits."

"But after that, we're keeping 'em warm – even if they are going to appear in this God awful heat," Mary rolled her eyes. "I'm freezing Marshall out at the house. He keeps telling me he needs to buy Eskimo gear."

Her mother chortled loudly, "He's a dear, good sport. You're so lucky to have him, Mary."

"Believe me, I know," she didn't need to be reminded, taking herself back to Maureen's accusations the day before, something she tried to flatten very quickly. She didn't need to be thinking about his true feelings along with everything else. "What other guy would wear a sweater in July when he's puttering around the house?"

Jinx had nothing to say to this pronouncement, and the two of them continued to tear apart the stacks of onesies in silence. Mary approved of very few of them, wrinkling her nose at the cutesy phrases printed on the chest, mocking the patterns of rattles and hair bows and every animal under the sun.

Finally, she found two she thought she could at least live with, Jinx having long since deserted her to heave other articles of clothing into their overflowing shopping cart. Mary could worry about what she'd picked later, searching for approval from the grandmother when it came to the coming-home outfits.

"Mom, what do you think about these?" she inquired, holding out the pair she'd unearthed.

They were both solid red, the only color Mary thought worked for both a boy and a girl, as she was sick of the stereotype of green and yellow. One was printed with tiny blue stars. This one, she surmised, could be for the boy. The other had what she thought were daisies in white. She wasn't entirely sold on flowers, but they were so small they could easily be mistaken for polka dots, which took care of her daughter.

Jinx eventually pulled her nose out of clothing racks to take a peek.

"They're lovely, darling…" she crooned appreciatively. "But, I think they're too big if you want the babies to be able to leave the hospital in them."

Mary shook her head, "No they aren't," she pulled out the price tag on the one with the stars, which was also stamped with the size. "It says they're for newborns, see?"

The pregnant one stood for what felt like a very long time, fisting the tag in her fingers like a peace offering, waiting for Jinx to say of course, and that it was her mistake. But, Jinx did not say that. A pacifying look swept into her pale, milky face. Mary thought it made her lipstick stand out in skin that so often resembled porcelain. She was trying to figure out how to tell her daughter something she would not want to hear – something she hadn't realized.

And Mary, with her swollen ankles, aching back, and belly the size of Everest, didn't have the patience for it.

"Mom, what?"

Luckily, Jinx had known Mary long enough that she sensed the tone.

"Angel, I…" she paused to deposit two pairs of overalls into the cart. "I'd just…" she let out a faraway sigh that made Mary feel prickly all over. "I'd be surprised if the babies are much more than five pounds apiece, especially if they're born early. Five pounds is really little, honey…"

"I-I know…" Mary tried to sound certain, but she wasn't.

How small were they talking?

"I'm not sure if they have those in premature…" Jinx went on, but it was the final word that caused Mary to finally snap, albeit much more calmly than she would've ordinarily done.

"Premature?!" she shouted so loudly that Jinx almost looked embarrassed. "Do you have to talk about them that way?" she lowered her voice and threw her only choices for clothing back to the table they had come from, unfolded. "Do you have to make them sound so…?" she shook her head wildly, wanting to bolt from the scene. "So…_deficient_?!"

And she even tried to leave; tried to storm out of the infant section, so desperate she was to get away from this kind of conversation. It was ludicrous, after all. Her and Jinx had driven together, so she had no way to vanish on the spot as she was hoping.

As it was, the parent seized Mary's wrist and made her turn around, preventing the child from lumbering out in a huff.

"Mary-Mary-Mary…" she rattled off in a frenzied rush. The mentioned whipped around and sighed at full volume, but allowed Jinx to keep her rooted to the spot. "I wasn't trying to upset you; 'premature' is just a label, it doesn't mean anything…"

But that was where Mary quit listening. 'Premature' being a 'label' was exactly why she didn't like the expression. She and Marshall had declared from the first few steps in their relationship that they were not the symbolic types. 'Premature' was right up there with 'married' and 'husband' and 'love.' It made things permanent. It was defining; a single statement to imprint upon a solitary thing that was often so much more than that one word.

The very thought twisted her insides in a way that made her feel ill. Mary had once been a clichéd, formulaic brand. In the dictionary of others she was a cacophony of words.

Abandoned. Independent. Bossy. Little girl. Seven. Seven-year-old little girl. Little girl with no father.

It was a minute before she realized Jinx was still trying to undo what she'd said.

"If you don't want me to speak about them that way, then I won't," she offered up at once, keen to get Mary in a better mood. "I know it's very nerve-wracking for you sweetheart; I'm sorry, I forgot…"

Watching her mother trip all over herself to correct her blunder swathed Mary in guilt. She knew Jinx hadn't meant anything by what she'd said, but she was extremely sensitive about this sort of thing.

"You should get those if you want them," the dancer declared in an attempt to smooth things over once more, indicating the crimson sleepers. "If they're a little large, it's no big deal. Like you said, you want them to be warm. They'll be like blankets," she made a solid stab at laughing, but it came out very shaky.

She was scanning Mary's face for signs of acceptance, but she wasn't met with that emotion.

"Never mind," she jerked free of Jinx's grip and tried to stuff her hands in her pockets before she realized she didn't have any in the ultra-plus-sized maternity jeans she had to wear. "You pick something. I don't care."

This wasn't true, and she knew how petulant she was being. Fortuitously, Jinx appeared to have enough logic to glean her daughter wasn't being honest.

"No-no honey; these are nice…" she side-stepped Mary and snatched up the outfits that the taller had carelessly thrown aside. "I'll ask someone if they have a smaller size, and if not maybe we can order some. How's that sound?"

Mary did not enjoy being spoken to like an overemotional toddler, but considering how she'd just acted, she shouldn't be amazed that Jinx had taken this route. These clothes weren't that important. She'd probably be so dog-tired by the time the kids arrived that she wouldn't give a damn what they were wearing as long as they were healthy.

"You can ask if you want," Mary eventually mumbled to her feet – or where she imagined her feet were, as she could no longer see them while standing. "Don't go to any trouble. I'm gonna keep looking," she indicated the clearance rack beyond the table where she'd been stationed, a place neither woman had ventured to just yet.

Jinx took the instruction for what it was, and decided to consult the crumpled notebook paper she'd had stuffed in her purse which constituted a list. Mary meandered the direction she had gestured to, but saw as soon as she arrived that the sale stand was marked as such for a reason. The clothes weren't organized by size and were all styles and colors. She wasn't sure she had the energy to sift through everything.

And she unexpectedly didn't have to. She felt her phone begin to vibrate where she had it shoved in the back pocket of her pants. She ungracefully managed to pull it out and turn it around to answer, noticing with a quick glance to the ID that it was Marshall.

"Hey…" Mary said swiftly, knowing she sounded irritable, but glad to be out of earshot of Jinx. "What's up?"

Her partner was plainly too distracted to recognize that Mary resonated aggravation, "How close are you to finishing your shopping?" he wanted to know almost before she had finished speaking. "Because I have a matter of some delicacy to tend to and I could use your help."

"You can say whatever you need to say," she notified him at once. "Jinx is off trying to push the fall outerwear into August by purchasing every article of summer clothing they have here," she persisted in eyeing the onesies nobody seemed to want, crammed in amidst miniscule T-shirts with garish designs.

Marshall forced a chuckle before getting on with the reason he had phoned, "In that case," he embarked upon, sounding rather businesslike all of a sudden. "It's Tripp – well, not really Tripp. Gretel."

"Gretel?" Mary hissed, leaning close to the hangers as though she expected the miniscule skirts hanging on display to be listening in. "What about her? Maureen's not supposed to be served with the custody papers until tomorrow. And, Tripp told me he was going to talk to her – Gretel I mean," she clarified quickly. "He didn't spill the beans already, did he?"

"Not from what I can ascertain," Marshall all-but guaranteed her. "But, like you said, I think he must've tried to prepare her for what's coming, and I do not get the impression she took it that well."

"Jesus…" Mary sighed, irked that this was going as badly as Tripp had anticipated it might; all the more reason for him to pursue custody. "How's she gonna react when she sees how far he's taking this, then?"

"Well, that does put us in quite a pickle," Marshall agreed. "I was hoping you could meet me back at their house. Tripp swore up and down that Maureen is at work, so I don't think she'll be an issue."

"Why do you want me to talk to Gretel?" the female couldn't help wondering. "You're the one who's aces with kids."

"I appreciate the confidence," she could picture him smiling. "But, Tripp is rather fond of you, whether he admits it or not. I think it is imperative that we both be present, no matter who actually does the talking."

"All right…" Mary consented, but was then driven to remind him of a pertinent flaw in the plan. "But, I won't be able to meet you. Jinx drove us over, and she can't drop me at a witnesses' house."

"Oh, shit; that's right," Marshall swore brashly as he remembered, a choice of words that almost made Mary giggle, as he wasn't nearly as prone to it as she was. "Okay…" though he said nothing for a split second, she thought she could hear his brain working furiously and at warp speed to formulate a second plan. "Have her drop you at the house then. I'll come by and pick you up."

Mary could not help feeling a little put-out that everyone had to drive her hither, thither, and yon like some invalid, but it was a hard fact of her current life that she scarcely fit behind the wheel of the car anymore. And, although it was a chore getting into Marshall's SUV, it was infinitely more complex getting in and out of her own car, which sat squarely on the ground. She dreaded the day she got stuck in the passenger side of the vehicle and had to have a crane come lift her out.

"Fine, do that…" she told Marshall, coming off snappish as she thought about her predicament. "I'll try to be there in fifteen if I can get Jinx out of here."

"Sure," he understood. "See you soon."

Mary didn't trouble herself with goodbyes and hung up, taking one last inspection of the cheaper items, not expecting to come across anything worth having. That was until she spotted two sleepers at the end of the row, dangling pitifully off their hangers; droopy and unloved.

They were plain white, and certainly small, but not miniscule, which meant they likely would not pass Jinx's test of prematurity. Nonetheless, curiosity got the better of her and she snatched them up.

Adorning the chest were four tiny army men; a shade of dark evergreen, exactly the type of toy soldiers little boys played with in their sandboxes. The design was as basic as could be, but that was what was drawing Mary in.

"Soldiers…" she mouthed without thinking, outlining their bodies and helmets with her index finger.

She thought of Seth's comment the previous morning: sweet peas and soldiers. She smiled against her will, knowing instantly she had to have them. Although most would consider this an article of clothing only suitable for males, she didn't see why both her son and daughter couldn't don the sleeper. There were two right here, after all. And on sale to boot.

She glanced quickly to the tags to see that they were meant for babies around three months of age, but they could accompany the red suits she'd already picked out. Grabbing all four, she trudged back to Jinx as fast as she could, which wasn't speedy by anyone's calculations.

"I want these," she stated without preamble. "And mom, I'm gonna have to go," segueing without wasting time. "Something came up at work; Marshall wants me to meet him at the house."

"Oh…" Jinx was thrown off balance by the abrupt change in course, but recovered well. "Okay. Well…I guess we should pay and get going then," as if she had been the one to suggest it. "I pulled a bunch of things sweetheart…" she patted the mound of supplies in the back of the basket. "You don't have to keep all of it; look at it at home and decide what you like. I can always bring some of it back."

"I will mom," she promised hurriedly, knowing Marshall and her witnesses were waiting. "Thanks for the help. Just make sure we end up with these," she lifted up the red-and-white tinted items, which called Jinx's attention to both.

As she'd already seen the red ones, she narrowed her eyes at the white, "Are those…army men?" she asked skeptically. Without waiting for an answer, she laughed derisively, but Mary was not offended. "Really, dear. Only you would buy something like that for a sweet baby."

"_Babies_," Mary corrected her. "There are two here."

Jinx arched her eyebrows, "Are you telling me my _granddaughter_ is going to be wearing that?" she queried in disbelief. "Mary, it's for boys! It was in the boy section!"

"It was not, it was in the clearance section!" her daughter argued. "And, you stick some pink pants on over it, what's the difference?"

Jinx giggled again, "I didn't think you were much for pink."

"Desperate times call for desperate measures," Mary grunted. "Now, let's get to check-out, or I'll be late for Marshall."

"Whatever you say, honey."

And she was still laughing as she rolled their shopping cart up the aisle.

XXX

**A/N: Oh, Mary – all hot and bothered about her babies. Jinx is a good motivator for that. Thanks for the reviews!**


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Hope you all enjoyed the last chapter! I'd love the feedback if you're reading, but I'm happy if you're reading at all.**

XXX

Upon arriving at Maureen's house, Mary could see immediately that she was not the one to deal with Gretel. Tripp was sitting at the kitchen table, Gretel on the far corner of the couch, her arms folded over her chest, her cheeks tearstained. Tripp had one of his hands resting on his head, as though he was worried his brain might plummet to the ground. Mary was having similar feelings with her daughter in the pit of her tummy.

Billy was there too, pacing around the living room, clearly unable to sit still. When Mary and Marshall walked in, he seemed to be trying to decide whether to go to his brother or sister first. Mary hadn't anticipated he would feel caught in the middle, but she supposed it was possible, even though Tripp had said he was behind the custody agreement. For all of Maureen's grievances about her middle child being an 'impossible high school boy' he seemed to be taking things fairly well.

Marshall, the most kindhearted of their pair, led Gretel off to her bedroom to speak to her. Mary dragged Tripp out to the deck through the screen door, pledging to Billy they'd be back soon.

It was hot and windy outside, and Mary had serious doubts about whether the spindly patio chair she was offered would hold her. Nonetheless, she decided to live dangerously, easing herself down next to Tripp, who was looking rather sick. His inspector was reminded forcefully of the day her and Marshall had sat on this slab of cement, watching the Sullivans play with a soccer ball; the day Mary had discovered all that Tripp was supervising. She'd been skinnier that day. It had been colder too, but no less sunny. She'd been wearing a sweater.

"So…" she finally put forth, not liking how sore she felt sitting on a bench so hard. Her little girl was still wedged where she'd been since last night, and Mary had the suspicion she wasn't moving until she was out in the open. "What happened? I take it things didn't go well," she addressed Tripp.

"I could've expected that," he mumbled inertly, scratching his nails through his thick brunette hair. "I didn't do this to upset her – I did it to protect her," referencing Gretel.

"Well, you and I know that, but Gretel's eleven and doesn't know the difference," Mary explained. "My guess is, she's seen you and Maureen battle a lot as the years have gone on, and she's just too young to grasp the concept right away," she went on. "She probably thinks you're mad at your mom and that you're trying to hurt her. Is that about right?"

Tripp nodded sedately, "Pretty much," he conceded darkly. "She knows mom and I don't get along. The only time we did was before she was born," he scoffed bitterly.

"Well, unlike you, Gretel really doesn't know life before WITSEC," Mary reminded him. "Her life may be screwed up, but it's the only life she's ever known. Change is a bitch for all of us."

Tripp managed a spirited chuckle at hearing her swear, always appreciative of her crass abilities. Nothing like a Marshal at eight months pregnant still toting her gun and doling out the profanity.

"You're quite a shrink, you know that?" he joked feebly.

"I'm an expert in addled minds," she teased back.

Tripp's good nature didn't last long. His smile faltered almost at once as he recalled what was facing him. Mary noticed he kept glancing to the glass door they'd walked out of, as though hoping Gretel would emerge and say she agreed with his intentions – that him having custody was exactly what she wanted. Mary thought he was likely to be looking for a very long time.

"Gretel's different than me and Billy…" he communicated in a distant voice, an announcement Mary wasn't entirely anticipating, but was willing to listen to even so. "She always has been. She's not…" he shrugged, not wanting to insult his sister, but the truth was the truth. "She's not as…tough as us. But, she hasn't had to be either. After all, she did have…_us_."

His phrases were muddled and repetitive, but Mary understood what he meant. Gretel had-had more to rely on than a rebellious mother. She could count on her brothers to do right by her, and go to Maureen only for the happiest of moments.

Tripp reminiscing about how Gretel's childhood had differed from his own struck something in Mary's brain, something she'd been hoping to leave until a later date. But, it seemed now was as good a time as any.

"Tripp, I know we haven't really gotten into legalities where this is concerned…" she pitched her elbows onto her stomach to get a better look at his face. It pinched the round and made her cringe but, fortunately, in the brightness of the sun Tripp didn't seem to notice. "Once your mom is served tomorrow, you're going to be dealing with the lawyer a lot more. Marshall and I are really just your advocates…"

"Yeah, I know that…" he was clearly anxious for her to reach her point.

"But, you wanted to pursue custody because of your mom's plot to book it to New Orleans, right?" Mary wanted clarification.

"Well, sort of," he shrugged. "I mean, it's been a long time coming; kind of the straw that broke the camel's back or whatever that expression is."

"Okay," Mary had gathered as much. "You should know…if you get custody or Maureen retains it, things could go either way in terms of your safety."

He frowned visibly, "What do you mean?"

Mary hesitated, knowing she couldn't stop now, but she was starting to wish she hadn't begun. This was going to be a lot for him to digest on top of Gretel's outburst. It was a heavy burden for someone of any age in any set of circumstances, never mind Tripp's personal dilemma.

"It really depends on Maureen," she said quietly, sounding a lot like the breeze swirling around them. "If you are able to obtain custody of Billy and Gretel here in the next month or so – because that's how long the proceedings will take – and Maureen decides she still wants to move to Louisiana…"

She paused for a moment to make sure Tripp was following her, but his eyes were locked on hers, waiting expectantly.

Mary backtracked just to be certain he would understand, "If you become their legal guardian and Maureen heads to New Orleans, the three of you will also be relocated."

She didn't take any pleasure in watching Tripp's puzzled features turn to mystification and shock. His green orbs grew wide and his mouth fell slack, like he couldn't believe what he was hearing. In some respects, Mary was surprised he hadn't guessed, but it wasn't his job to know the ins and outs of WITSEC.

"What?" he gasped, leaning back in his chair, like being too close to the inspector made it too hard to take in. "Why? Why would…?"

Mary stopped him before he could stutter himself silly, "Listen, you getting custody doesn't automatically mean you're relocated. You, Billy, Gretel, and your mother would all still be in the program, you would just have the power to keep your brother and sister with you if she decides to leave."

Tripp just shook his head, nonplussed, so Mary went on.

"_If_ she leaves and you're still here in Albuquerque, she has too many opportunities to give away your location – she _would_ be out of the program for violating the rules."

She saw the light begin to dawn in Tripp's downtrodden eyes, "So…wait…"

Now that she was almost finished, Mary wanted to wrap this up.

"We would have to relocate you so she doesn't know where you are. So, in short…"

"I…" Tripp found his voice once again before Mary could be the one to reach the conclusion. She stopped, deciding to give him the freedom to put the pieces together. "I…"

Apparently, the idea was too vast to be articulated. Mary watched as Tripp shook his head one more time, as he stood up, facing the far fence, and then turned to look at her dead on. She hated the distress swimming in his spacious, youthful eyes.

"I'd…I'd…_never_ see her again," the questioning nature of his tone had vanished. "Me and Billy and Gretel. We'd never see her again."

Mary, though she detested herself for it, averted her eyes to the ground in shame, as though she was the one who had made the rules she was now forcing Tripp to follow. In actuality, this was not the be-all end-all, and she suddenly realized that saying this might aide her witness.

"It doesn't have to come to that," the woman declared softly. "It depends on your mom. Marshall and I have every intention of getting her to stay put; if we can make her aware of the real dangers still waiting out there, I think she'll be inclined to stay."

"But, what if she isn't?" Tripp shot back, his voice rising semi-hysterically, throwing up his hands. "Gretel will kill me! This isn't what I wanted at all!" Mary decided to let him yell; to get it all out. "Why is she doing this?! Why does she have to be so selfish?! I'm screwed either way!"

He started to pace up and down the patch of grass in front of the deck, wearing stains on his sneakers, every possibility he could foresee shooting out his mouth.

"Either she keeps custody and takes Gretel with her to New Orleans – they're in danger and Billy and I get moved! Or I get custody and she abandons us for this Keith guy – she's _still_ in danger, we're _still_ moved, and Gretel will never forgive me for making her leave New Mexico!"

It was fraught with problems, Mary had to admit. She too thought that Maureen was being disgustingly self-centered, and could absolutely see why Tripp wanted to rip Gretel from her clutches. Nonetheless, there was not a happy ending anywhere in here.

"My only hope is if I win custody and mom decides to stay here!" he was at full-volume, the low-hanging sun obscuring part of his face in shadow. "And fat chance of that!"

"Tripp, it's not as unlikely as you make it sound…" Mary cut through his babble. "You're looking at worst case scenario, and I don't blame you; it's what I'd do," she didn't wish for him to feel reckless for viewing all the options. "You trying to acquire guardianship of Billy and Gretel could be exactly the whack on the head she needs. She may decide to settle down and wise up if she sees that you're serious."

"Wising up isn't usually in mom's vocabulary," Tripp spat harshly, but he stopped rambling and simply stood with his hands perched firmly on his hips.

Mary let him stew for a few minutes, allowed him to process the information she'd given him. While relatively stunned, he did not seem completely blown away. Tripp had-had enough bad news in his life that this was mostly just icing. He'd clearly known what sort of terrors might be in store by trying to sneak Billy and Gretel out from under Maureen's nose.

After a moment or two, his defensive stance dropped and he sauntered back to his chair, sitting across from Mary once more.

"You don't think I should do this now?" he asked rather aggressively, startling Mary out of her lull, where she'd become aware that she could no longer cross her legs because twin number one was suspended so low. The pressure she was inflicting against her bones was starting to make her feel dizzy.

She tuned back in to Tripp, "I didn't say that."

"But, you probably think I should just try and persuade her to stay here – stick it out, assume she'll come around…"

"No actually, I think you've stuck it out long enough," Mary corrected him somewhat snidely, as she didn't enjoy having such conjecture about her feelings thrown her way. "I'm just making you aware of what could happen. You don't need any more surprises."

Tripp grumbled indistinctly at this, twisting his hands in his lap, staring at the overgrown yard beyond. There were weeds climbing the wire fence, and the grass hadn't been mowed in what looked like several months. Again, Mary was struck with the idea that Maureen had let her housework fall by the wayside now that Tripp had moved out.

"She wasn't always like this, you know."

Again, her witness spoke out of nowhere, like smoke on the wind. It was harder to see it coming when he wasn't looking at her. Mary took the bait anyway, glad he was no longer hollering so she didn't have to expend so much energy fighting back.

"No?" she questioned; she felt safe figuring he was talking about Maureen.

"No…" he reiterated. "She fell apart after my dad died. She really hasn't been the same since."

This sounded rather familiar to Mary, but that wasn't news anymore; she and Tripp had many parallels. Only, in this instance, her father wasn't dead; Jinx had been broken by being deserted, not widowed.

"I didn't know your dad had died," Mary whispered, although in the back of her mind she likely had a note of it somewhere; she'd simply forgotten. "How old were you?"

"Eight," he stated bluntly. "Or, somewhere around there. He had a heart attack a few months after Billy was born."

Something triggered in Mary's brain at hearing this seemingly useless piece of information. Something wasn't matching up, and it didn't take her long to deduce what it was. If Tripp's father had passed away before Gretel had come along, it could mean only one thing.

"After Billy was born?" she spoke a little louder, ensuring she had Tripp's full attention. "What about Gretel?"

He shrugged, clearly not noticing the conundrum he had presented, "Gretel's our half-sister – different dad. I don't know who it is. I'd be surprised if mom knows who it is."

"Whoa…" Mary breathed, intending to make certain he knew there was an unforeseen hitch in the plan. She craned her neck and narrowed her eyebrows at him, "This would've been really helpful to know. Tripp, if Gretel's biological father is still out there he could make things difficult for you when you get to court…"

"I don't think he knows about Gretel," he insisted nonchalantly. "Whoever he is. From what mom told me when I was younger, she skipped town after she got pregnant. I don't think she even told him she was having his baby."

Mary let out a sigh, feeling some measure of relief for her charge. While Maureen's secrecy was not to be admired, at least they weren't as prone to running into daddy-dearest as they would've been had she made him aware she had his daughter. Gretel has enough issues to contend with.

After another minute's quiet, Tripp spoke again.

"I'm sure I'm doing the right thing, but I wish it felt like I was."

Mary leaned her chin in her hand, "If it's not easy to come by, it must be right," she joshed lightly.

He grinned, but the melancholy lingered in his childlike eyes, "Will we end up with new Marshals if we have to be relocated?" he wondered.

Mary could tell he was trying to sound relaxed, but the way his voice cracked on the final word convinced her that he was anything but informal. She tried to smile at him, to put his mind at ease, but there was no covering up what might be coming down the road.

"Yep," she nodded. "New city, new state, new Marshals. Everything."

She could tell by the way his eyes flickered to the ground that she had confirmed his fears. He scratched the back of his head absently, and Mary noticed the scar on the underside of his forearm that he'd received trying to keep one of Maureen's dirt bag boyfriends out of the house. Marshall had one in the exact same place.

And it wasn't until Tripp said the words that she realized she was as dismayed as he was.

"Then…I'd never see you again either."

X

Marshall, unlike his snarky partner and bedmate, was not at all awkward around crying children. He wasn't sure the same could be said for Gretel at the moment, at least when it came to the crying. While she shed her tears and dampened her pillow with every drop, he sat on the edge of her mattress and took in the eccentricities of her bedroom.

It was small, fairly cozy, but had a definite manner of neglect that made Marshall rather sad. There were signs of former splendor. The walls were cotton candy pink, and a border of ballerinas adorned the edge of the ceiling, where dust was visible in the corners. Gretel's dresser was wooden, an off-white of chipped lumber; she had dumped a variety of substances on top of it – lipstick tubes, a wallet, key chains, even one or two unfolded shirts lay wrinkled amongst the heap.

She had plastered her walls with several posters, but Marshall had the feeling they were simply there to cover up the little-girl-quality of the ballerinas; that they were the only decoration Gretel could get her hands on. Pictures of cute puppies and a pop band or two splashed amidst the peeling paint. The bed they sat on now lay devoid of personality; her comforter was the same dirty white as the dresser and printed with tiny purple flowers.

Marshall couldn't say for sure why he thought the room lacked a certain something, just that Gretel was eleven years old now, and becoming a teenager. Most girls of said age would be doing everything they could do spruce up their living quarters; to make it 'cool' and 'trendy.' It was plain she had tried with the posters, but otherwise, the space was the same as it had been when she was five. Maureen didn't have the resources – or the time, it seemed – to assist her in making the room any more enjoyable.

And, right now, Gretel was distraught over her brother's attempts to make her understand why living with Maureen was no longer an option. Her sobs were wracking where she lay on her stomach, her face buried in her pillow. The inspector had given her some time to gather himself, but now saw he was going to have to jump in with both feet.

"Gretel, I am not well-versed in the ways of musicians these days," he decided to start with something impartial. "Who are these young men?" he pointed at a sign advertising a group of teenage boys around a drum set.

As Gretel was still bawling into her bedcovers, she couldn't see what Marshall was talking about. When his charge didn't bite, he took things a step further.

"If you don't tell me, I will never learn," he declared sheepishly. "And, as I am going to have a daughter, I feel I need to be educated in these matters. I want to be a cool dad, after all."

He thought the brief insight into his personal life would peak Gretel's interest, and it did indeed. She sniffled loudly, wiping her nose on her pillowcase, and turned her head over her shoulder. Marshall could see that her eyes, a clear and crystal blue similar to Brandi's, were very bloodshot.

"You're gonna be a dad?" she murmured curiously, her voice husky from crying.

"With any luck," he declared. "In another month or so."

His witness rolled over and sat up, resting her neck on her headboard and blinking morosely at him.

"And it's a girl?" Gretel wondered aloud.

"Believe it or not, I am gaining one of each," Marshall informed her stoutly, not bothering to conceal his pride. "A boy _and_ a girl. I was fortunate enough to acquire twins on the first round."

Gretel allowed a half-smile to escape, "My mom said that Mary was having a baby, and I could tell when she showed up," the little one shared her observation. "But, I didn't know you were gonna have one too."

Marshall kept himself from laughing; knowing she envisioned Marshall with his own wife or girlfriend, but the nature of her phrasing had him picturing himself with child. It was quite an image, one he considered sharing with Mary later.

"This is along the lines of top-secret-gossip…" he whispered covertly, an action that had Gretel raising her eyebrows excitedly. "But, Mary and I are somewhat of a…"

Gretel cut him off; "You're boyfriend and girlfriend?" she posed eagerly, scooting on her butt across the bed and sitting cross-legged right in front of him. "And you're having _babies_?"

"You should be a detective, ma'am," he poked a finger in her chest, which elicited a real smile. "You cracked the code. And, since I want to impress Mary, I need to know everything about what boys and girls like. I might've been lucky to get two at once, but that means I have to learn about both – much harder."

"You don't have to know right now," Gretel giggled, wiping up under her eyes with the index finger on her right hand. "Babies don't care about bands and stuff," she said this as though Marshall did not know, a thought that amused him.

"Well, maybe you can hook me up in the future," he suggested. "Is it a deal?"

Unfortunately, their spirited byplay came to an abrupt and subdued end when Gretel latched onto the mention of the future. Despite how long it had taken Tripp to discover what might occur if he seized his siblings; it appeared that Gretel was more cognizant of the potential happenings.

Marshall watched her bow her blonde head, shiny and silky; shoulder-length and pinned back on one side with a barrette.

"I can't tell you anything if Tripp takes me away from my mom."

Marshall did sigh, though knew he should've made an effort to hide it. He didn't want to look like he was exasperated with Gretel and her theatrics, because he wasn't. He was merely caught between a rock and a hard place, though knew his quandary was nothing to Tripp's.

"Gretel…" he set the conversation in motion as easily as he could. "I know that this must be very complicated for you. You must feel like you don't get a say at all…"

"Nobody asked me how I felt," she interrupted, concurring with Marshall's beliefs. "I don't want to be stuck with Tripp forever! But, I don't want to go with mom to New Orleans!" she proclaimed boldly. "I don't even like Keith that much – and is she even allowed to go?" the child wondered. "Tripp said she'd get in trouble with you guys if she went."

She narrowed her eyebrows, as though expecting Marshall to contradict her, to say that Tripp had been wrong. The inspector guessed this was because she wanted someone to blame, and it was easier to place fault on Tripp than on her mother since he was the one taking action.

"She would be in trouble if she left the city," Marshall didn't want to disappoint her, but it had to be done. "Big trouble, I'm afraid. I know it's a lot to take in right now Gretel, but is it okay if I ask you something?"

His blue eyes showed compassion and consideration, and this was one of the main ways he differed from Mary. Mary would demand without permission. She'd get the facts by stealth or by force, never mind wasting time with consent. That was why she was better off with Tripp, and Marshall with Gretel.

As it was, the eleven-year-old merely hunched her shoulders, "I guess."

Marshall knew it was important to proceed deftly. After all, he wasn't even sure how much Gretel knew. From what Tripp had said on the phone, he'd taken a shot at explaining to his sister how he 'might' try to keep Maureen from shipping them all off to Louisiana. It was hard to say whether she'd been filled in on the full-blown custody operation. It was hard to grapple with at this young age. Gretel might simply believe Tripp planned to argue with their mother until she packed her bags and left without her children.

Regardless, he got on with his question.

"How do you like living with your mom?" he proposed gently. "Do you spend a lot of time here or would you rather be someplace else?"

Again, Gretel shrugged, coming off submissive and protective of her own desires.

"I like to be here when nobody else is…" she began tentatively.

Marshall pushed a little, "What do you mean by that?"

"Well, like when it's just me and mom – sometimes Billy, but he likes to stay at Tripp's apartment," she clarified. "It's better when it's just us, and not one of mom's boyfriends. If they're here, I go to Tripp's or sleep over with one of my friends."

This made perfect sense to Marshall, and he dove further, "Do you feel safe when it's just you and your mom?"

Now Gretel was looking uncomfortable, and the man immediately saw his need to back off. He didn't want to interrogate the child. She was in enough of a knot as it was and he didn't intend to tighten it beyond the necessity. He softened his approach straight away.

"If you don't want to tell me, that's okay," he assured her kindly. "I was just wondering. Mary is usually the one who gives me the updates on you guys. I was curious to see for myself, but we don't have to talk about this."

To his astonishment, in spite of his tenderness, Gretel's eyes suddenly filled with tears; he could see them gathering in giant pools in the corners, threatening to spill over at any minute. When she did respond, it was with a passion he hadn't predicted in the least.

"My mom isn't dangerous!" she sounded pleading and flung herself even closer to Marshall in an effort to make him see. "I don't know why Tripp is trying to make it sound like she is!" Gretel didn't grasp the official rules of WITSEC, and now wasn't the time to enlighten her. "I know she screws up sometimes, but she'd never hurt me on purpose or anything! I wish her and Tripp could just get along! They don't even talk to each other and now he wants her to leave forever and ever!"

"Forever is a long time, Gretel…" Marshall cut in quietly.

But, it made no difference. She'd begun to cry again, tears streaming down her face, so confused she was at a loss for words. Marshall did not know what else to do, and inched closer to her on the bed, patting her hair soothingly, stroking up and down in hopes of comforting her. There weren't any effortless answers anymore. These kids were growing up, dealing with real tribulations and real heartache.

"Why can't they just be nice to each other?" she moaned tragically, nearly repeating what she'd asked Marshall seconds before. "Can't you make it so Tripp won't take me from my mom? Or-or get mom not to go…?"

Gretel's eyes were so round and full of hope as she looked at Marshall, her last, valiant shot at ending this mess. He just wished he had a better solution for her. Suddenly, he was struck with the realization that there were going to be many more conversations like this one with his own children down the road – where he had to thwart them again and again. Not on purpose, but simply because the world had turned upside-down, consultation be damned.

"Mary and I are going to help all of you in whatever way we can," he gave his word on that. "But, your mom and Tripp are both adults, and they ultimately make their own decisions. I hope that for you and for Billy, they make the right ones."

He didn't share with Gretel what he thought that decision might be. Like Mary, he believed that Tripp finally going after full custody of his brother and sister was the most responsible course of action. Unfortunately, he could also guess that this would result in Maureen blowing through town in a huff, causing the transfer of the three Sullivan children – a consequence he did not think favorable at all. The most optimistic outlook was Tripp getting his rights and Maureen keeping two feet firmly in Albuquerque to oversee her parenting, regardless of what the legal documents might say.

"My mom and Tripp hate each other," Gretel proclaimed as Marshall let this running commentary course through his brain.

"No, I don't think they do," he refuted calmly. "They're stuck in a rut; I'm sure they both love you and that's why Tripp is doing what he is – to protect you."

This earned him shaky scorn, "Protect me from what?"

"Well…we can discuss that another day," Marshall put an end to those notions at once, knowing the girl likely didn't really remember what had put her family in WITSEC in the first place. "Just, try to keep an open mind, Gretel," he implored with one last caress of her hair. "Your mom will probably find out what's happening tomorrow, so just be ready."

"What if I tell her first?" the tweener raised defiantly. "What if I don't wait for Tripp's people to do it?"

Marshall wasn't one to be sucked into the games of eleven year old girls and took his turn at shrugging, "I suppose you could," he would give her that freedom. "But, as the people with whom Tripp is working have more knowledge on the subject, it might be better if you let them take care of it."

Gretel rolled her eyes upon hearing this, but the man knew he had her beaten. She crawled away from him and back against the headboard, her eyes traveling all over the room, unsure what to say or do next. Now that she had settled down, Marshall had every intention of wrapping things up and going to Mary to see how she'd done with Tripp, but his charge surprised him when she opened her mouth again.

"You said you wanted to know all about boys and girls, right?" she tried to shed light on a previous matter, watery orbs darting back and forth across Marshall's face.

"Whatever you can tell me; I am open to submissions…" he spread his arms wide to reinforce this, glad to have a more objective subject to talk about.

She was fast, "Just one thing," she shook her head as she said it.

"I am all ears," Marshall swore.

She studied him for a moment; a long moment, where Marshall thought he must be transparent, that this child was seeing all his bones, the way her glance roved all over his body. What was on her mind, he didn't have a clue, but he was about to find out.

"Don't name one of your kids Gretel."

He couldn't help but be bewildered at this bit of advice and inclined his eyebrows to show it.

"Not a fan?"

"Gretel is a fairytale name…"

And, leaving Marshall rather disillusioned in his delusions of grandeur about fatherhood…

"Nobody's life is anything like a fairytale."

XXX

**A/N: Little bit of a longer chapter, and I hope I explained Tripp's scenario in a plausible (and coherent,) fashion. I would absolutely love to hear what you think if you have the time but, like I said, I appreciate it if you're taking the time to read at all.**


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Thank-you so much for the reviews! I hope I don't sound like I'm begging for them – I just get so spoiled when they're so nice! To ladypuercoloco – you didn't miss much when it comes to Billy! I sort of brushed him under the rug by having Tripp explain early on that he was behind the decision to go for custody. Hopefully that's sufficient for now! :)**

XXX

While Mary had powered through her busy day relatively smoothly, once her and Marshall got home she felt as though she'd been hit by a truck. She ached all over, but the real kicker was the dropping of Baby A. Although it had been in the back of her mind all day, she'd managed to keep it in the rear in favor of completing paperwork, shopping with Jinx, and damage control with Tripp.

Giving into her fatigue, however, meant that she felt the effects of carrying two almost full-term babies, one of which was pressing hard and rigidly against her bones. Mary's back was excruciatingly sore; the entire bottom half of her belly throbbing from the force of her daughter, perhaps her son as well. Then there was the usual kicking to contend with, which left her feeling bruised and beaten before six o'clock.

At first, Mary tried to hide her condition from Marshall by saying that she just wanted to rest 'for a minute' on the couch, but lying down showed her just how trampled she really was. Dizzy, hot, tired, and unable to find even a semi-comfortable position, she watched her partner open and close cabinets in the kitchen, trying to find something suitable for dinner.

Within moments, she knew masking her twinges was not to be. She'd been flattened and Marshall shouldn't have to tiptoe around her when it came to their meals.

"Marshall…" she called rather pathetically from the sofa where she was lying on her side and in danger of falling onto the rug.

He turned from where he was examining the expiration on a box of stuffing and saw his woman's suffering features – the lines in her face, the longing in her eyes, the way she so stiffly held herself to avoid further soreness. He tossed the package to the counter and walked over.

"Yeah?" he settled himself on the corner of the coffee table so he was looking down into her drained form. "What can I do for you?"

Mary's first thought was to ask Marshall to reach in and yank these kids out by their ankles, but landed on something more diplomatic to voice.

"You should fix whatever you want for dinner…" she told him in a slow and lethargic tone. "I don't think I'm gonna eat."

As expected, the taller scowled at this news. Out of habit, his hand traveled to her forehead, testing first with the back of his palm and then flipping over. Mary closed her eyes and sighed as he did this, trying to bask in how comforting his touch could be. His fingers were so soft, not at all obtrusive or punishing. The contact was sweet and supple; a lightness Mary no longer possessed seemed to seep into her otherwise massive body.

"Aren't you hungry?" he finally questioned when she allowed her gaze to fall upon his once more, where he was still looking fretful.

Mary swallowed, "Not really…" the compression against her muscles had started to make her feel nauseous. "I lost my appetite."

He tenderly brushed stray hairs back into her honey-colored mane, undoubtedly noticing that she was sweaty from the ninety degree weather.

"Do you feel like you're going to throw up?" he quizzed her like a doctor, understandably worried about her digestive system since she hadn't taken in anything since lunch; vomiting when she had nothing to vomit was cause for alarm.

Fortunately, the other inspector shook her head as well as she could inside the throw pillow where she reclined, "I'm really swollen – I just don't feel very good," there was no other way to explain it, other than 'icky.' "I'll eat later if I don't think I'm gonna puke."

"You must've overdone it today," Marshall concluded after getting the whole report. "You had a full schedule."

"That's true…" Mary sighed, forced to agree, wishing, if nothing else, that the crick in her back would recede; it made lying down painful.

Just as this awareness waved through her consciousness, another hot flash swept her skin; she could practically feel the sweat trickling down her back and neck. She fanned herself with her hand, pushing aside the matted hair Marshall hadn't managed to clear out of the way.

"Jesus, I'm roasting…" she protested, absolutely loathing that she sounded so whiny, even as she billowed her shirt open to get some air. Why did she experience sensations other people did not? "Aren't you hot?"

This, of course, was a ridiculous question. She suddenly spotted what Marshall was wearing – a pair of jeans and an athletic jacket that zipped up the middle. His hands, now that they were not running all over Mary, were shoved in his pockets. He was toughing out the deep freeze just for her.

"Not at the moment," he replied with a flicker of a grin that he managed to bury. He got right down to business, "Come on…" holding out his fingers. "Come and put your feet up in the bedroom; you'll have more space. I'm pretty sure we have a fan down in the basement; I'll go and see."

"Marshall, no…" Mary objected, increasingly at war with herself; he was shifting his entire existence because she changed speeds at the drop of a hat. "I will never be able to defrost you if we put a fan in the bedroom. You're going to wake up with icicles hanging off your nose."

"The morning is the perfect time for a popsicle," he declared nobly, a corny statement that would've made Mary laugh if she weren't so miserable. "I always enjoy one with my bacon and eggs."

She blinked glumly at him, "You're treading a fine line with these jokes, doofus."

"Come on, partner," he said again, reasserting his suggestion. "Let me set you up in bed. You really aren't looking great. With everything revving up with Maureen tomorrow, you're going to need your wits about you."

Mary was perfectly aware that he was right, but she still didn't like it. She didn't like that she kept griping and groaning, when she'd undergone pain just as bad or worse when she'd taken a bullet in her gut three years earlier. Still, she hadn't been worrying herself sick after she'd been shot, banking on being able to return to normalcy within a matter of weeks. The stress that came from the twins far surpassed any anxiety she'd had after having been gunned down.

"Give me your hand," Marshall insisted when the blonde didn't move. "I won't tell anybody you needed help getting up."

"You better not," she said in a low and threatening voice, but she allowed his fingers to curl tightly into hers, the sign that she could begin to heave herself off the couch with Marshall's assistance.

Getting upright wasn't too much of a crisis; Marshall was burlier than he looked and could handle her girth easily. But, it was a disorienting effect for Mary; her guard was down and she'd likely stood up much too fast. Wooziness came in a fleet, causing flashes of bright, indistinct light to pop in front of her eyes. Panic shot sky high in a hurry, especially when poor, unsuspecting Marshall tried to drag her back to the bedroom.

"Stop!" she almost shouted, her voice cutting harshly through the quiet when he tugged her arm.

Now she wasn't the only one who was scared, "What? What?" he commanded, letting go at once.

Mary screwed up her brain, willed herself as steadfastly as she could to get back in control.

She was fine. She was fine. She was going to be fine.

She closed her eyes, suspended for a moment to allow the golden spots to fade from her vision. Patience paid off and, after a pause, she saw nothing but black; a good sign, as she could hear her own breathing in her ears. It became slower and steadier with each passing second. The more she exhaled, the less wobbly she felt; the rise and fall of her chest was cathartic.

And, when she felt safe enough to open her eyes, the only fear remaining was Marshall's horror-filled face in front of her own, his periwinkle eyes fixed resolutely on her.

"What's going on?" he almost ordered her to speak, voice ringing throughout the house, not nearly as mild as it had been the night before. "What happened?"

"I…I'm sorry…" she stammered, feeling remorse for having frightened him, but she'd acted on impulse when she'd yelled. "I'm just…I got dizzy…I was afraid if I walked…"

"Were you going to faint?" Marshall discovered the mystery in no time. "We really need to get your feet up. Are you okay now? Do you want some water?"

The way he was throwing offers at her was slightly overwhelming, but Mary knew he was just trying to help, and gripped his arm for security, showing him she was ready to venture forth now.

"I'm…I'm fine…" she wasn't lying, not really; the lightheadedness was gone, at least. "I'm really not thirsty, but if you think I need a drink…" she didn't want to argue with him.

"I'll get you something," he confirmed predictably. "Between the heat and the queasiness it must've been too much once you stood up," he was trying to explain away her spell; to console her along with himself.

Mary still felt jittery, but was trying not to succumb, because Marshall sounded nervous enough as it was. He had an iron fist around her flabby arm, so unyielding he might be in danger of cutting off her circulation. She was not going to come anywhere near passing out again on his watch.

Fortunately, they both made it to the bedroom without incident, and Mary felt secure letting go to climb onto the bed. In truth, she did not feel much better on the mattress than she had on the couch but Marshall was right; at least there was more room.

"Try to take it easy, all right?" he appealed to her warily; she could hear the tension in his voice and felt guilty again. "Here…"

He flurried around to his side of the bed, grabbed both his full-sized-pillows and, in an action that Mary thought was highly dramatic, shoved them under her bloated ankles. Mary was hard-pressed not to feel a little absurd. The pillows sat like a stack and her ankles wavered on her little throne, but Marshall seemed satisfied.

"I'll join you in a bit…" he pledged once he was next to her yet again, laying a supple kiss against her temple. "You're sure you're okay?" she ought to have known he'd want to be positive.

Mary nodded hastily, "Yeah…" she'd told him just last night not to be such a nursemaid; he couldn't do that if she was constantly in danger of fainting or delivering or barfing her innards out. "I'm…I'm sorry about how I…"

She wasn't one for apologies and the way her timbre trailed off convinced her she didn't know how to phrase one. But, Marshall was right there to head her off; to defend her relentlessly varying state of being.

"Oh, no…" he shook his head lovingly, soft eyes turning sorrowful that Mary felt the need to blame herself. "It isn't your fault. We just have to take things slow. You're such a workhorse; I forget sometimes…"

Mary smirked, glad of this, "Me too."

Fortuitously, Marshall seemed reassured that she was smiling and looked relatively tranquil, so he patted her shoulder, glad she wasn't fighting who was liable in her feeling weak in the knees – other than the kids, who were the real culprits.

"Be back soon," he reiterated before striding through the open door, leaving it ajar as he returned to the kitchen to find himself something to eat.

Once he was gone, Mary allowed herself to emit a loud, theatrical sigh, blowing straight from her constricted chest and out her mouth, hoping to gather some oxygen. She knew the deed would make Marshall uneasy, though it was simply a release of excess pressure at this point.

Mary doubted her health could improve in the impending days, which was a depressing thought considering how many more weeks she needed to stretch to have full-sized twins. On the other hand, she could also sway herself into 'getting used' to the new normal; the heightened backaches, the overload of heaviness, the inability to stand up straight. All of it would become routine within a few days.

While she had this clattering through her mind, Beatrix ambled into the room, woken from her spot under the counter in hopes of Marshall dropping a scrap of food. Mary gave a weak smile as her companion hurdled onto the bed, showing off her grey stripes as she pranced across the covers and nudged Mary's hand with her nose.

"You looking for something?" her master asked condescendingly, even knowing all Beatrix wanted was attention. "Bad night to look for favors, Bean Brain. It's been a rough day."

Beatrix purred; a rumble that seemed to be vibrating straight out her little heart, pushing her hard head further into Mary's palm. The woman consented to scratching her ears, which gained her another hum of approval.

"You're not gonna be jealous when these kids show up, are you?" Mary inquired softly, not wanting Marshall to become privy to the fact that she was talking to the cat, though she was sure he already knew this was a frequent instance. "Not gonna pounce on 'em or try to bite their arms and legs off, right?"

Content with the inspector's spoiling; Beatrix folded onto her haunches and settled herself just north of Mary's belly. She always found it interesting that this was the cat's preferred location, with both of her large ears pressed against the hill.

"Because, I have to tell you…" she continued placidly. "If you go all 'Sylvester and Tweety' on Frick and Frack, you're on a bus to the pound."

Beatrix bestowed Mary with a bored-looking blink of her pale eyes at these words, a gesture that gave her a contemptuous air. Had she been human, she would have clearly been saying, 'Yeah, right.' Frankly, Mary did have more faith in Beatrix than she let on; she trusted her not to scuff the twins up beyond what was playful.

She worried sometimes if Marshall had gotten her dog what the situation would be. A rambunctious canine was far more apt to running over two newborns. Beatrix was hardly trained, but she'd never given any hint she'd transform into a wild beast. Since her days as a kitten, she'd been gentle and jaded; bemused by the world around her and nothing more.

"Like I'm not giving Marshall enough to worry about…" she sustained her musings, petting the feline absently and without direction. "He doesn't need to think of you ambushing the kids in their cribs in the dead of night."

Her silent friend stayed as such, opening her eyes only a fraction to peer at Mary and give the impression all her chatter was interrupting her nap.

"Like you don't get enough sleep," Mary said upon noticing this darkened glance. "Since you were this big…" she put her thumb and index finger about an inch apart. "All you've done with your spare time is snooze."

This statement brought Mary back to Beatrix's younger days, which were not that long ago. The animal was only about a year old, but her owner had been amazed by how fast she'd grown to adult-sized. Her era spent as a kitten seemed a long time ago all of a sudden; a parallel universe in which Mary had lived before her and Marshall had been together. And she remembered all too well the reason she had this cat in the first place.

Some unknown force was going through the motions while memories flooded Mary's already overflowing brain. Her puffy fingers skittered to the nightstand as she recalled Beatrix as a baby, tumbling around on top of the counter while her new possessor ate cereal and shared the milk. Her nails groped for the handle of a drawer and pulled, reminding herself of trying to keep a kitten out of harm's way; easily small enough to slip under furniture and get lost.

And, without even turning her head, Mary was able to slide a slick, glossy sheet of paper from inside the drawer, eyes falling at once upon the being that had brought her Beatrix. The being that had brought her Marshall. The being who had spurred her into birthing twins just a few weeks down the road. The being that had changed her life. The being that had never had the towhead and sapphire eyes Mary had envisioned for him – the being she thought of every time a filter of fear seeped into her veins.

Her Jamie.

Mary's nail traced his nearly unrecognizable form. He'd been little more than white squiggles against black before she'd lost him, but here was proof he'd once been – her one and only sonogram picture before she'd miscarried. Though she knew it was foolish to believe it, as a fetus at fourteen weeks would not be so developed, Mary told herself over and over she saw the shape of a head and leg against the dappled darkness of the ultrasound photo.

Unearthing Jamie's image, a process here on an already dreary night that Mary hadn't meant to put in motion, produced another sigh from his mother. His mother.

"It'll be different this time…" she whispered almost soundlessly. "It'll be different."

Marshall said so. He told her over and over again this wasn't like before. Losing Jamie did not automatically mean something would go wrong with the twins.

It didn't stop Mary's paranoia. Though she'd sailed along through the course of the pregnancy fairly well, panting toward the closing stages meant those old, plaguing thoughts she'd had at the onset came rushing back.

Every wrench in her belly was a sign of danger. Every minute of nausea was disquieting. Every time she felt unsteady, spinning, or sick, something could be taking place within the womb; a something potentially fatal to her children. And the closer Mary got to delivery, the more frequent these occurrences became.

Her free hand found the apex of her tummy and rested there, perhaps in an attempt to settle the kids, as though mere thoughts could rile them into making a disturbance.

Meanwhile, in the kitchen, Marshall was putting together an assortment of foods he thought Mary could stand to munch on, because he could bet that her dizzy spell came from more than the temperature outdoors. Hungry or not, he knew it was imperative that she eat something.

He'd assembled a smorgasbord of vanilla ice cream, a plate of sliced watermelon, and some cold macaroni on a tray – not the most appealing of meals to most people, but being a pregnant woman; Mary could get away with it. Just as he'd poured her a glass of 7-Up, he heard a phone start buzzing. At first, he thought it was his own, but then realized Mary had left her Blackberry on the coffee table. Leaving the hodge-podge dinner on the counter, he hurried to answer, hoping it was not Stan or anything else work-related.

"Hello?" he spoke into the speaker, and came to find the caller might rank just as bad as the office, at least in Mary's eyes.

"Oh…" Brandi's tone, off balance hearing the man's voice, floated through the other end. She recovered quickly, "Hi Marshall. How are you?" at least she had the grace to be polite.

"I'm well, and you?" he journeyed back to the kitchen, wondering why he said as much when he was in disarray on the inside.

"Pretty good, pretty good…" Brandi replied breezily. "Mary said you've been working overtime trying to get ready for the babies."

"Well, overtime is flattering me," Marshall claimed humbly. "But, it is true I am trying to get a few ventures out of the way so I have more time when the kids do arrive. Just making sure I have everything lined up correctly," there was no point in going into details, as he couldn't, and darting around WITSEC in job-centric discussions was tricky business.

"I'm sure you'll get it all done," Brandi took this for granted. "Especially since I bet Mary's trying to work until the last possible minute," she laughed hoarsely, scratchy like sandpaper.

"When she can," Marshall had to agree. "But, I beseech her to slow it down and relax. It is my number one profession until we become parents," he knew he sounded almost gratingly schmaltzy, but he didn't care. What he'd said was true, inside and out.

And, Brandi didn't disappoint when she kept right on chuckling, "You'll have to give Peter lessons on how to take care of a pregnant broad when my day comes."

"I doubt Peter needs instruction," he assumed with a smile. "But, I look forward to that day arriving."

In an instant, glorious pictures of the twins frolicking with cousins – nieces and nephews to Marshall – formed in his mind's-eye. He could see the shining sun, the rich green grass; little bare feet running across the lawn, a sprinkler splashing, hoses spraying; the sound of children shrieking in unbridled delight. Their faces were painted in drippy, glowing glee.

Brandi's voice interrupted his little fantasy, and it was like he'd been doused in cold water. Mary's troubles, the number of days ahead until the twins hit the earth safe and sound, not to mention the Sullivan chaos, returned in a jiffy.

"It won't be for awhile," she declared confidently in response to Marshall's vow. "But, I was actually looking for Mary…" she didn't waste much time now that he'd allowed the lull to wrap them up. "Is she around? I had some ideas for the nursery. I guess going shopping today sparked mom's creativity."

Marshall took a moment to balance the tray under his long arm, clamping the cell between his shoulder and ear. Although, delaying the inevitable wasn't going to gain him or Brandi anything.

"She's here…" he faltered, making sure his masterpiece of foods wasn't going to smash to the floor. "But, you might want to talk to her tomorrow. She's pretty under-the-weather, I'm sorry to say."

He expected Brandi to fight him on this; to convince him she'd only be a second, that it wouldn't take any time at all. He was preparing for how to talk her down when the younger sister startled him rather pleasantly.

"Really?" she wondered in an almost timid voice. "What's wrong with her? Is she okay?"

Vaguely, Marshall speculated on just how many times that last question had circulated in the last eight months, and couldn't imagine how tired Mary was of hearing it. Even so, he appreciated Brandi's kindness and her neglect to push; he was glad he could ease her mind.

"She's all right," he made sure not to sound quavering or uncertain, so as to appear forthcoming. "The heat's just getting to her and she had a really long day."

"Okay…" Brandi sighed in a smidgen of disappointment as Marshall made his way back down the hall to rejoin his woman. "Well, tell her I hope she feels better, then. I'll call her back tomorrow."

Marshall thought her lack-of-perseverance was to be validated, "Thanks for understanding, Brandi. I'll pass along the message."

"Thanks…" she expressed. "Goodnight Marshall."

"Night."

Tossing Mary's phone onto the tray next to the ice cream, he took the steps to the bedroom once more, hands-free but for his spread. He was somewhat disheartened to find, however, that when he entered Mary's midst, she looked rather isolated, a blank stare on her face that didn't encourage him whatsoever. Beatrix was curled up against her tummy, perfectly content, but Mary was plainly somewhere else. All he could discern was that she was looking at something in her hand.

"Good evening ma'am…" Marshall turned on the corniest voice he possessed, bypassing whatever was on Mary's mind for the moment.

Unluckily, he startled her and she shoved whatever she'd been poring over out of sight so fast, he might not have seen it in the first place. She hid it beneath Beatrix's front paws, upside-down from what Marshall could glean once he got closer. He pretended not to have noticed.

"I know you said you were not feeling particularly famished, but it is my sworn duty to keep you, Frick, and Frack as healthy as possible, and that includes eating dinner…" Marshall prattled onward, ignoring Mary's half-open mouth; she was obviously flummoxed that he was dismissing her shifty demeanor. "Nothing too rich; just a few items you can take bites of here and there…" he nodded at his tray.

Mary peered upward, trying to catch a glimpse of what he carried, but looking wary all the same. His intention was not to make her sick, but if she was as close to collapsing as she'd been ten minutes before, she definitely needed sustenance.

He eased onto the bed next to her, holding the serving platter like an olive branch, "Feast your eyes on this. No pun intended, of course," he grinned cheekily.

Mary was still rather puzzled, but choked out some of the sarcasm for which she was known, "Ice cream…watermelon…and noodles," she fed Marshall her trademark look of incredulity. "Seriously? Are _you_ having some kind of weird cravings? Because I didn't order this," she poked a finger at the array. "If you're having one of those sympathy pregnancies, you can pack your bags now, because I only shack up with real men."

Marshall shook his head good-naturedly, "All for you, inspector. Take your pick. I covered many of the major food groups – only the best for you and the kids." Eagerly, he began to describe each item with gusto, "We have dairy, fruit, grains…"

"I don't think these count as grains if they aren't cooked," Mary corrected him, reaching for a wet piece of macaroni with her fingers and popping it in her mouth. "Why do we have them?" she inquired around bites.

"I'd planned on making a pasta salad a few nights ago but I never got around to it," Marshall shrugged. "You weren't feeling the mayonnaise."

The sheer mention made Mary's stomach churn and she shook her head at the memory, "You better believe it."

"Anyhow, I at least tried to pick foods that do not have a distinctive smell," he took up for himself mildly.

But, Mary didn't need for Marshall to identify every facet of his mishmash, but nonetheless very thoughtful dinner. In all honesty, she was still not very hungry, but her man had done an impeccable job choosing things that would digest easily, where she would not be tempted to puke at the first taste on her tongue.

To show her gratitude, she smiled and leaned over to kiss his cheek, which made him blush like a schoolboy. In response, all he did was remove the plates and bowls from the tray to rest on the lumpy bed, which caused Beatrix to stir and sniff expectantly.

"What did you eat?" Mary asked of her partner, now stabbing the watermelon with a fork and sampling.

"I'll get my chance," Marshall didn't elaborate, but Mary knew what he meant; she didn't intend to stand for it.

"Have the ice cream," she aimed her finger at the bowl, where the dessert was melting fast. "If you don't, Bean Brain here is going to lap up the whole damn thing, so hurry."

She watched Marshall waver, but he'd more than fulfilled his doting savior role for the evening. Without any more urging, he took up the bowl and began to devour the little scoops. Mary couldn't stop herself from giggling at his enthusiasm, not having realized how starving he was.

"We're quite a trio, aren't we?" Mary groused, working to sound disgusted, but not entirely able to pull it off.

"Alas, we are not a trio, even counting Beatrix," always the intellectual. "We are a quintet. A group of five. Don't leave Frick and Frack out…" and before Mary could make fun of his professor voice, he jumped forward. "Who, by the way, we might want to consider giving different names here in the next week or so. I don't think I have to explain why 'Frick Mann' would not look favorable on a kindergarten enrollment list."

Mary knew the last portion was meant as an act of comedy, but she still rolled her eyes. Marshall knew how she felt on this subject, but was about to be reminded – his penalty for bringing it up.

"I told you…" she swallowed a bite of watermelon. "I don't want to name them until I've seen them."

"Yes, but even so…" Marshall argued conversationally. "Putting a few monikers on the table cannot hurt. I have some beloved ones tucked away if you're keen on listening…"

He anticipated Mary shutting him down, and she followed through, "Not right now."

And, considering how tired she was, Marshall couldn't fault her, "Sometime soon, then."

She could only grunt at this, but he decided to take the noise as a sanction. Instead of haranguing her about it, he plugged away at his ice cream, thinking if he'd known he was going to be the one to wolf it down he would've gotten a bigger bowl.

Beatrix, who undoubtedly scented milk somewhere in the vicinity, came prowling over to him, placing her paws against his knee to look pitiful and ravenous.

"Just a morsel…" he gave in shamelessly and dug his finger through the sherbet, allowing the cat to lick it off.

Mary watched fondly for a minute before Marshall was able to glimpse what had been left behind when their animal friend had gotten up. Whatever Mary had been trying to bury when he'd come in the room was lying innocently atop the comforter, and he picked it up without thinking about it, without calculating the potential ramifications of his nosiness.

"What have we got here…?"

Mary flung out her hand, nearly sending the watermelon to the floor, and squeezed hard around his wrist, "Marshall, don't…" if he'd looked up a split second sooner, he'd have seen her cheeks flush; would've seen the embarrassment.

But, as it was, he was too late. He was face-to-face with Mary's unborn child; he knew it was Jamie because his eye caught the date in the upper right hand corner as being from over a year ago. He knew the photograph was very important to Mary, and saw no reason for her to feel humiliated, but it did distress him slightly that she was obsessing over it without him around.

"Well, judging by the absence of the matching round heads, four arms, and four legs, I would say this is not one of our offspring," he held up the picture as evidence, not at all accusatory and was met with soundless gaping from Mary; she'd stopped eating.

"It…it's stupid; I don't know what I was…"

"No, it isn't," Marshall stopped her before she could begin. "It isn't stupid at all. I'm just curious what compelled you to bring it out," he explained. "There's nothing wrong with it."

The term 'it' was very nonspecific, but both of them knew to what they were referring. Under more ordinary circumstances, they each coined Jamie by his rightful name. They'd simply been blindsided this time – Mary by reminiscences, Marshall in general.

"I…I don't know…" the blonde wasn't sure she was up to elucidating her feelings. "Just…all the aches and pains lately…I mean…" she fumbled. "I mean…they're not my favorite memories, but…" he waited while she came to her conclusion, her green eyes scanning every inch of the room except his face. "I-I can't help wondering about all the things that might happen, like they happened to Jamie; hell, look at Tripp and Billy and Gretel; these kids could go the same route…"

This was where Marshall stepped in, lying a hand on the curve in Mary's side, "You know the twins are not going to end up like the Sullivans. Maureen made a personal, egocentric choice that we will not be making," he said very matter-of-factly, to give her something concrete to hold onto. "That is one thing I can guarantee you."

He saw Mary gulp with recognition and nod feebly, "The doomsday thing is just what I do; I know I'm a pessimist, but…"

"Pessimist is too strong," Marshall tossed up some credit, beginning to run his hand up and down his woman's side stance. "You're a realist, is all. You're used to looking at every possible scenario, and that includes the bad ones. After losing Jamie, you're a little gun-shy."

Hearing Marshall speak his name reared something in Mary's chest; a force, a creature she'd been trying to silence for some time, even though she often tried to think of millions of ways to justify her thoughts. She was reassured in knowing she wouldn't have to convince Marshall of anything.

"You know something dumb about Jamie I've been thinking about…" she began recklessly, liking the feel of his fingers tickling against her body, traveling to her shoulder.

"I am sure it is not dumb, but do tell."

Mary wondered if there was anything in the world she _could_ say that Marshall would think was unintelligent.

"I like that we're having two kids…" she gave Beatrix a spontaneous scratch to lure her away from Marshall's ice cream. "Well, for lots of reasons," she ended briefly before going on. "But, mostly because so many moms go on and on about the whole 'firstborn' thing…"

"Right…"

"And…_Jamie_ was my firstborn…" she insisted fervently. "Whether he was actually _born_ or not…"

Marshall nodded, "I understand that."

"And, with the twins, it's like I won't really have a firstborn – not to other people," her thoughts were jumbled, but she was pretty sure Marshall got where she was coming from. "They'll just be a set. Sure, the girl will probably be older than the boy, but only by a few minutes. I'm glad Jamie still has that spot, not like number one or anything but-but…" she was prattling now, becoming agitated, and so tapered off. "But…still."

She averted her eyes to the 7-Up she'd yet to drink to avoid looking at Marshall, but his voice told her all she needed to know. Whatever mortification she felt was quickly quelled by his ever-present loyalty and faithfulness; that he strived to comprehend and relate to everything she confided in him, no matter what it was.

"I stand by my belief that he will be a part of you forever," he whispered from above her, and she felt him leave a fluttering, floating kiss on the top of her head. "A self-proclaimed and proud mother of three."

XXX

**A/N: I warned about the chapters getting longer! I hope it was nice for you to have a little break from the Sullivans, although I still have no idea where my idea for Marshall's odd dinner combination came from!**


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: Thank-you again for continuing to read and review! The comments mean so much to me; they're always so kind!**

XXX

A gloomy, discouraging realization met Mary on Thursday morning. It was insight she had gathered long ago, around the time she'd reached twenty-four weeks gestation, but the progression had been gradual; she'd been able to live in denial. But now, that wasn't going to be the case – the comprehension was strong and it was as powerful as a speeding bullet.

It was only going to get worse from here.

In terms of her physical stature, her vigor, and her ability to function like an ordinary person, Mary was tanking and she was tanking fast. Until the twins showed their squealing, reddened, tiny faces, she was done for. She felt like Gretel in that she had no say in the matter. Nonetheless, she intended to battle against being bed-ridden as long as possible, if for no other reason than that stretching against her back all day was a misnomer. She figured this out during another protracted night, where she let Marshall snore to his heart's content and she tried every position possible in an attempt to get comfy.

The product was that she was bulbous, inflated, and majorly surly when she and Marshall headed to the Sunshine Building in the morning. The skin around her eyes was tender from lack of sleep, and she shuddered to think what she looked like in the clear light of day. Wearing her loosest jeans and a baggy, airy shirt the color of 'tumbleweed' as Marshall put it, was a very small comfort to Mary.

"Top of the morning to you, inspectors!" Stan bellowed gaily as he strolled out of his office, much as he had several days before when Marshall had been the walking robot. "We are over the hump! That much closer to the weekend! Exciting, huh?" he rubbed his hands together enthusiastically.

Mary could only stare, formulating what the best form of mockery would be for Stan's unprecedented jolliness. He had not chosen a good day to try and spread bliss like fairy dust. Apart from feeling like crap, Mary had Maureen to lie in wait for, not to mention fending off Jinx, Brandi, and their fixation on the nursery.

"You're in a chipper mood this A.M.," Marshall detected, giving the woman the side-eye as he said it. "Any particular reason?"

"As a matter of fact, there is," Stan pointed a flapping finger. Mary had the irresistible inclination to smack it out of the way, but refrained. "I have been working 'round the clock trying to figure out how we are going to run things around here when you two are off dealing with the babies…"

"The kids," Mary barked in, disturbing her boss' run-on. "Can't anyone remember that?" she interjected when all she received was an offhand look from Stan. "Its baby-this and baby-that…"

She cared very little about how trivial and sardonic she came off. This was not an essential factoid to correct, but she was quick-tempered due to so few hours of rest. She had a blanket excuse on her attitude until the twins were born, and probably after as well.

It seemed Stan's spirits were not to be dampened, however. He waved a blasé hand at Mary's interruption and blew onward.

"My mistake, yes…" his acknowledgement of his error was extremely brief. "Well, when the kids arrive, Delia is going to need a new partner, at least until you guys are able to come back…"

"We can come back though, can't we?" Marshall cut in, taking a leaf out of Mary's book with breaking up the flow of conversation. He wasn't worried, but Mary was looking murderous at the idea of new blood being inducted into WITSEC. "D.C. understands we're not leaving permanently – at least not both of us, right?"

"Yes-yes, I was able to smooth all that over…" Stan was clearly very pleased with whatever he had cooked up, but it made Mary nervous. She was typecast as not playing well with others for a reason, even if the 'new guy' was just temporary. "It took some doing though, I will grant you that. D.C. is still a little hesitant about how a couple of hopeless romantics can work so well together…"

"Hopeless romantics?" Mary squawked indignantly, feeling nothing but disgrace at hearing herself described as such. "Did you just step out of 'Pretty Woman' or something? The next time you call me a 'hopeless romantic' you can expect to be…"

"Within spitting distance of Mary's all-too-accurate aim," Marshall dove in heedlessly, giving Stan a look that clearly said he should cut back on the merriment if he wanted to keep all of his limbs intact. "Right, partner?" he tacked on the end to cover up that he was communicating silently with their boss, taking her hand and clutching it lightly.

"If _you_ keep covering my fingers, you're next," Mary groused, wrenching free and glaring at Marshall now instead of Stan, who had to wonder how he'd become the offender all of a sudden. "I can't walk, I can't drive, I can't eat without becoming chums with the toilet…" evidently done with this discussion, she plodded in the direction of her desk, not up for hearing about inspector number four at the moment. "And you want to restrict the use of my hands too. Why don't you just strap me to a table for the next eight weeks?"

With a jolt that she sincerely hoped did not show on her face, Mary suddenly realized that as of tomorrow, it would only be seven weeks.

And as she haphazardly started to clear off her desk to find an empty space to work, she knew deep down she should not have made a mountain out of a molehill just because Marshall wanted to hold hands. Still, she was getting a little too grumpy about being looked upon as so fragile. Throw in that she had the sensation the world was closing in around her with her ever-expanding circumference and Marshall constricting her knuckles only made it worse.

Near the chief's darkened office, Stan leaned in to appeal to his male inspector, now that he was certain Mary would not be able to eavesdrop.

"Guess we'll discuss Delia's new associate another time…" he proposed under his breath. "Not that Mary will like him any better later in the day."

"Do not rile the beast," Marshall concurred, unable to stop his mouth running off, as he rarely spoke about Mary in such a way. It was nonetheless fitting this morning. "Sorry Stan; she's a little wound…" the taller of the two apologized on Mary's behalf, as if Stan hadn't noticed. "I'm not sure she slept very well last night."

"Don't make excuses," the older man advised, but there was no malice in his tone and he was quick to rectify what he meant. "I'm only saying…you don't _have_ to make excuses. If I was feeling as off-kilter as she is, I'm sure I'd be crabby too."

They both eyed Mary covertly, ready to stop whispering at a moment's notice in case she looked their direction. At the moment, she was in danger of receiving a very bad paper cut, the way she was hurling documents aside, but didn't seem aware of their dialogue.

"Add on the anxiety, and I'm stunned she hasn't surrendered to spontaneous combustion yet," Marshall contributed, earning him a reckless laugh from Stan, one that was most definitely hazardous to his own health if Mary spotted him.

For his own benefit, he bit down on the chuckle quickly in favor of actually registering what Marshall had said.

"Anxiety? What anxiety?" Stan dug deeper, and though he had been aware of Mary's nerves when it came to her children, he thought it might've died down a little.

"She'll _never_ bring it up around here, but she had a minor scare last night…"

"A scare?" Stan's apprehension about pregnancy suddenly returned in full force, voice quivering at the possibilities.

"Minor. A _minor_ scare, chief," Marshall restated. "I will not go into the more gruesome of details," though there were none. "…Because I know you become quite the bundle of tension when it comes to birthing babies…"

"Kids, you mean."

Marshall ignored the jab, "But, the point is, it was kind of a red flag for Mary. She's getting down to the wire. It gets slower and trickier from here."

Stan gave a kind of low whistle. Even without the particulars, he could spot a minefield a mile away.

"No wonder she's snappy."

"Something like that, yes," Marshall saw eye to eye with the boss on this, but it was the last comeback that made it out his mouth.

Whether she could discern the actual phrases or not, Mary had picked up on their furtive chat, and she was too astute not to know they were talking about her.

"Listen ladies, get a water cooler!" she shouted callously from across the room, raising her nose from a file holder in her hands. "Aren't you supposed to wait for Delia before you start in on the locker room gossip? Next you'll be trading tips on how to shave your legs…"

Both men were smart enough not to retort in response to her insults. Stan only arched his eyebrows and signaled toward his office, bidding a hasty retreat. Marshall nodded and sent him a half-smile before venturing to his own desk, all the while having an eye on Mary. His instinct to shield her from all harm was begging her to sit down. The grey bags under her lids were visible even at a distance, and he deliberated on whether he dared imply she go home once lunch rolled around.

Auspiciously, she must've been able to read his innermost views on some level, because she did finally plunk down in her rolling chair and began thumbing through artifacts, though Marshall doubted she was taking much of it in.

A few minutes passed in an uneasy, if not self-conscious silence, and Marshall came across his 'to-do list' for the next day. He saw that he had the whole of Friday morning booked solid, a plan that had completely escaped his memory when he'd written out his schedule the day before. With increasing trepidation, he also recalled that Mary's thirty-three week doctor's appointment was tomorrow. It didn't look as though he would be accompanying her.

He looked up, trying to devise the best way to tell Mary about this when he heard her cell phone go off. Grateful for the opportunity to finesse, he listened to an irate groan escape her throat when she saw who was calling. On the other side of the room, Mary hit the talk button with more force than was necessary.

"What?" she bit harshly, not even bothering with anything in the vicinity of 'hello.'

"Uh…hi…" came Brandi's cautious tone from the other end, ringing of fear in just two words after hearing her sister sound so fuming. "It…its Brandi."

"Believe it or not, I got that from all those letters on my screen," Mary dripped with undeserved sarcasm. "What do you want?"

Though she didn't often display it, the younger wasn't a complete moron, "Is this a bad time?"

"I really don't think there's anything that qualifies as a 'good time' anymore, Squish," she did not lose her derision. "Is this important?" highly doubting it.

"Well…" Brandi's timbre sounded smaller still, obviously not wanting to anger Mary any further. "I mean, I don't know…"

"You don't know?" her eyebrows narrowed.

"Well, I…I called last night…"

"No, you didn't."

"Yes, I did," Brandi maintained carefully. "Marshall answered your phone; he said you weren't feeling good and that I should call back…"

At this, Mary directed her pinched brows to the man himself. Why wouldn't he tell her that Brandi had phoned? Did he think she was too delicate? Too frail? Perhaps his longevity in being by her side out of pity was taking its toll, she thought viciously. Even the way he was standing bugged her. He was mouthing inarticulately at some wrinkled piece of paper in his hand.

Leaving Marshall for later, she got back to Brandi, who was full steam ahead about that blasted nursery. This, of all things, was not going to raise Mary's spirits.

"Would you two just figure that out already?" she requested snidely without giving Brandi a chance to finish. "Honestly, I am sick of trying to choose between pink pigs or blue bears or whatever the hell else you guys have shoved at me. Can't you make a decision?"

In truth, Mary knew it was her who had not made a choice, but it was easier – much easier – to put all the fault on her mother and sister. It was apparent that Brandi sensed the oddness of the woman's questions, but sounded very reluctant to point it out.

"Well…" that word again. "I mean…Mare, it's _for_ you…" she was forced to remind her as meekly as possible. "And, Marshall said you wanted the final say-so…"

"Then tell Marshall, why don't you?!"

Her shout echoed around the office, and when Mary spared the man another glance, he had looked up in alarm. He was struggling with whether or not to ask why his name had come up, but his partner paid him no mind.

"Tell…tell Marshall what?" Brandi asked.

"About the nursery – just, tell him! He can run it by me!" she had absolutely no desire to deal with this right now, or ever, it seemed.

The growing pain – brutal, relentless pain – attacking every crevice of her body was enough to convince her these kids were coming in matter of weeks, if not a matter of days. Weeks were too early – _days_ were too early.

Mary felt in constant, unbearable conflict; she yearned not to be pregnant any longer. She was downtrodden and ailing with the throbs and the queasiness. But, she also longed to keep her children within; to hold them as long as possible, because the earlier they were, the higher the possibility they would not survive. She saw the wires and the tubes; the beeping monitors; the feeble little bodies. Nothing would be worse. Nothing. She could not fail them in this monumental time.

"I…I can do that…" Brandi's frightened, shaky voice pushed the worries from Mary's mind for the present. "I will. I'll e-mail Marshall. That's…that's a good idea."

The compliment didn't endear the older of the two in the least; she was impatient in wanting to be through this, "Was that it? Was that the only reason you called?"

The silence through the speaker convinced Mary that her sister's answer was a hearty, 'no, that is not all' but she clearly did not have the guts to say it. Unfortunately for her, Mary had no tolerance whatsoever and swooped down upon her in milliseconds.

"Squish, what?!" she even smacked her hand on the desk, which aggravated her almost-magnified fingers. It also got Stan's attention, who stuck his head out of his office at all the noise. When Mary only gave him a wide-eyed look of frustration, he backed himself right back inside, taking care to shut the door. "I don't have all day, you know!"

Brandi made a brave attempt at being kind, "Is everything okay?" she inquired shrilly, half-upset, half-terrified at her own courage. "I'm sorry if I bothered you, I just…"

"Forget it," Mary let her off the hook, but did not lower her voice. "What did you want to tell me? Make it snappy."

She took her opportunity while she had it, however careless the pursuit was, "I hope you're not gonna freak out or anything, because it's no big deal…"

This prelude did not inspire confidence. The inspector felt her heart rate pick up a few notches, reminding her how unwise it was to become uptight in these tumultuous times.

"But, I talked to Mark on Facebook yesterday…"

"_Mark?!_"

Brandi sidestepped the hysteria, "Yeah, and he's coming back for that conference – the same one he came to last year. I guess it's an annual kind of thing…"

"What about it?" Mary demanded, but she really did not have to guess.

"Well…" she had to stop starting sentences that way; it made her sound docile, like she expected the other woman to reach through the phone and hit her upside the head. "He…he asked if you and I would be around. He just wanted to say hi – have dinner or something."

Mary wanted to order Brandi the second she heard this information to tell her the truth about whatever she'd relayed to Mark concerning his inquiry. However, the little sister must've had some clue the question was on its way, because she rushed onward.

"I…I said I wasn't sure about you, because of the babies – um, the kids," she righted her terminology quickly when Mary sucked in her breath. "But, that I'd check with you just to make sure."

In the corner of her mind that the pregnant one was telling to shut up today, Mary realized that Brandi waiting before committing her to a meal with Mark was thoughtful. It was a far cry from her behavior a year ago, when she'd tried to brew a romance between the exes, but Mary was not in the most rational of moods at the moment.

"How did he even know I was having twins?" she commanded of Brandi without thinking, trying to pin it on her from the get-go.

"I don't know. You must've told him, because he brought them up," she sounded sure.

Despite how much it irked her, Mary thought it very feasible she had shared her pregnancy with Mark and did not remember doing so. Her memory didn't seem to be working quite the same way since she'd become the expectant mother. It was still superior in the matters of WITSEC, but anything in her personal life floated in one ear and out the other. Frick and Frack consumed every particle of her brain when she wasn't at work; there was no room for anything else.

"Well, leave Mark to me," she passed on to Brandi in hopes of closing the conversation. "If he shows up, I'll get rid of him."

This was the shortest, simplest solution, and she wasn't sure she'd follow through, but it was a tactic used to get Brandi to back off. She didn't relish having her baby sister transmitting messages to her ex-husband if he was toiling the streets of Albuquerque in the impending days. It made her think of some giggly teenager writing love notes on notebook paper in the back of an algebra class.

"Okay," Brandi consented, Mary's testy demeanor weighing heavily on her decision to stay out of it. "I'll warn you when he gets here," she added as an afterthought, working to be helpful.

"Whatever," she cast this off as of little significance, given everything else going on. "I have to go now, Squish. See you later."

She just barely heard Brandi trickle a faint, "Goodbye…" before she hung up, practically throwing the cell back to her desk; so hard it almost skidded the length onto the linoleum. She even thought she could see Stan's eyes flicker up through the blinds watching her little outburst, but he stayed hidden in his office, presumably where he was safe.

Regrettably, Mary's tantrum had caught Marshall's ear; he sauntered would-be-casually to the corner of her desk, placing a hand on the top to show his oath to have a reasonable exchange like adults. But, he was also a bright man and knew not to wait for her to get things rolling; he'd have to do the honors.

"Bad news?" he threw out in a low, steady voice.

Mary's green eyes, today rather untamed in their frenzy, snapped upward to meet his, her pen paused and held firm in her fingers. His perpetual serenity only infuriated her further. How could he be so composed with everything rushing down the pike toward them?

"Brandi's screeching like a barn owl about that damn nursery…" she muttered menacingly.

From Marshall's vantage point, he had thought it looked like Mary who was doing the screeching, but he decided not to bring that up.

"And she said Mark's blowing into town like some kind of typhoon – you can't predict when he's coming, but there's always cause for mayhem when he does."

Marshall couldn't help feeling she was being a tad judgmental of Mark, who he didn't consider one to cause any sort of turmoil. Indeed, he was so easygoing it was hard to feel even slightly inconvenienced by his presence, no matter how unexpected.

Instead of staying this, Marshall took an alternate route, "Actually, you can predict the patterns of typhoons," he supplied academically, faint hope in his blood that Mary would find his scholastic realities familiar and comforting. "Prediction is performed using a numerical model that…"

"Are you a meteorologist now?" Mary shot through his babble like a knife. "Jesus. If I wanted to know that much about the weather, I'd look it up myself."

So much for comforting.

Marshall allowed the abuse to bounce off him as swiftly as possible, knowing that being brash and brazen was Mary's way of deflecting her fears; it was her discomfort manifested in rudeness. He was far too used to her to be offended.

"Anyway…" he segued beyond her comments valiantly. "I look forward to seeing Mark, even if you do not," alleging buoyantly, determined to remain in a decent mood. Before the blonde could stomp on this too, he surged forth with more vital material, "Listen, I happened to come across my schedule for tomorrow…" he held up his tablet to demonstrate.

"And?" she butted in.

"It does not look as though I am going to be able to escort you to Doctor Reese's office. My morning is full to the brim. If you would like me to try and rearrange a few appointments, I'll see what I can do…"

"Why would you do that?" Mary crinkled her nose in that expert way of hers; Marshall had a sudden flash to fatherhood, and could envision his daughter doing the same thing. "Why would you try to rearrange anything?"

He couldn't help trying to choose his next words very guardedly, scrutinizing Mary for any sign of real craving in her outwardly stony face. When he'd said he couldn't make it to the appointment, he'd been certain he'd seen a flicker of fright in her glinting eyes. She'd been unhappy last week when he'd missed the date due to being out of town. Even the Mary from last night would've been persuading him in her own unique, non-needy way to get him to join her.

But, the Mary this steamy morning was no longer Jekyll, clammed-up and introverted. She had transformed seamlessly into Mr. Hyde, and Marshall was hard-pressed to determine which form she'd take the next day when the engagement in question came around.

"If…you think you'll be happy without me there, then that is fine…" he gave her leeway at first, something he hoped she'd appreciate, but finished with a carefully-cloaked stipulation. "Jinx can tag along, and you can fill me in after the fact."

In truth, Mary would've rather attended the check-up alone rather than have Jinx by her side, but she knew there was no point in arguing with Marshall, not even today when she felt especially spoiled for a spat. If she quarreled about Jinx, he would insist that he cancel every event he had on an otherwise busy Friday just to see another ultrasound, and that was hardly necessary.

"Fine," she gave her blessing for the first time since she'd woken that day, sounding mulish all the while. Reclining her neck over her work, "You'd better get cracking…" she jerked her head at the mass of papers on Marshall's desk. "Maureen's going to bust in here sometime today; we'd better be ready."

At this point, Marshall knew he had to be ready for just about anything.

XXX

**A/N: Mary's on the warpath! But, a pregnant Mary wouldn't be complete without mood swings!**


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: Glad to hear some of you enjoyed a testy Mary! Like I said, she couldn't be pregnant without the clichéd ups and downs in personality!**

XXX

Much to Marshall's vexation, he could not influence Mary to go home and take a nap after lunch. At first, he thought she might give in, but concluded that she was sticking around because she expected Maureen to barrel through the doors at some point. She refused to miss it; refused to neglect the opportunity to stand up for Tripp, although Marshall thought it ill-advised that she sit and fester, just waiting for the bomb to drop. He wondered if her blood pressure had already gone through the roof.

Nevertheless, Mary's efforts at waiting it out were not in vain. Just after one o'clock, the call came in. As Marshall was standing in Stan's doorway speaking to the chief, and Mary was in the bathroom for the tenth time, it was Delia who received the buzz from the guard in the lobby. When she approached Marshall, tottering on her high heels, he didn't have to take three guesses on what she had to say.

"Marshall…" she began, and the fellow inspector turned around, steeling himself for the blow. "Maureen Sullivan is downstairs. According to Henry, she's in quite the tizzy," Henry was the sentinel on desk duty. "Do you know what she wants? Should I let her up?"

He sighed, "Yeah, I suppose you'd better…" he gave Stan a resigned look, ending their discussion. "We're going to have to handle it sometime; it might as well be now."

Delia nodded her assent and click-clacked back to the phone to give authorization. In her absence, Marshall leaned his head against the cool frame of Stan's doorway. With any other witness, this would be fairly routine, but he retained a squirmy, guilty feeling in his stomach whenever children were involved. Given Maureen's unique situation, it was suspect as to whether anyone was going to come out of this unscathed.

"You do not look like a man who's looking forward to this," Stan noticed shrewdly. "Maureen's that mom who acts like a trollop, isn't she?" he furrowed his eyebrows trying to remember. "The one who has a new boyfriend every week we have to look into? Mary said her oldest is trying to acquire guardianship of the little ones."

"Well, they aren't so little anymore," Marshall lamented. "But, that's basically the gist. It's really Mary I'm bothered over though…"

"Why?" Stan wanted to know, curious. "I mean, besides wondering whether or not the twins are gonna eat her alive before September…"

Marshall gave a weak chuckle, "She's pretty attached to Tripp," he informed his boss despairingly. "Admitting to it is another matter, but I know how she is. If this goes south, she'll really feel like she let him down…"

Stan made a noise of comprehension in his throat and bent his head over his table just before Mary herself returned to the scene. Marshall whipped around at the sound of her boots, thinking initially that it might be Delia again. But no, there she was in all her rounded glory, looking more lethargic than she had at the start of the day, if that was possible. Her hair lay limp around her shoulders, her eyes dull and dusted with dew. She even rubbed one of them before questioning Marshall.

"What's going on?" she proposed assertively. "I heard Delia say someone's on their way up."

There was no point pretending, "That would be Maureen…"

But, his explanation spoke for itself when the relentless, deafening banging sounded on the glass double doors beyond. Both inspectors turned to see the woman in question, fists raised and lids peering heatedly through the sheet separating her from those whom she sought to strangle. It looked as though she'd had the day off, because she was wearing sweatpants and a baggy shirt, like she'd spent the morning loafing around the house. This appearance didn't invite Mary to feel any sort of pity.

"Jesus God…" she moaned at this spectacle as Delia dashed across the room to relieve the office of the pounding.

Marshall made a speedy decision in the stroke of time he had, willing to risk Mary ripping him a new one if it meant she heard the admonition he thought so crucial.

"Would you please-please try to stay calm?" he begged the partner he so adored, remembering all too well how she'd nearly passed out the evening prior. "I know you can't stand the woman, and I don't blame you, but I want you to watch yourself…"

Mary's look of outrage at his underscored coddling was replaced in an instant by the need to battle with Maureen. Her shrill voice rang out across the upper floor; she almost bowled Delia right over in her quest to get to Mary and Marshall.

"_What is this?!_"

She was waving a packet of papers in one hand, a large brown envelope held slack in the other. Mary could assume these were the custody papers they'd been so jittery about.

"_What is this?!_" Maureen repeated feverishly, and she marched the length of the room with strides disproportionate to her height, so she was inches from their faces. "_You_ did this!" she was focused most intently on Mary. "_You_ did this! I know it was you, I know you put this idea in Tripp's head…!"

Marshall watched her bellow long enough and stepped between the two women, feeling very uneasy with Maureen so close to his pregnant girl. The towering temper she embodied made him think she might smack Mary if provoked, which wasn't outside the realm of possibilities. Mary's detest for the Sullivan mother would not have her holding her tongue.

"Let's step into the conference room…" he said smoothly, a hint of authority in his tone. "We can discuss the custody measures in there. This way…" he extended an arm across the floor, indicating that Maureen was to go first.

She continued to scowl heavily at Mary for a minute, as though contemplating just how many ways she could tear her limb from limb, but eventually stalked across the room, puffing and grumbling the whole way. This gave Marshall one last chance to beseech Mary.

"I'm just saying…"

"Pipe down, dingus," she retorted insolently. "I can handle myself."

And she followed suit of Maureen, although her stalk was more like a shuffle. Marshall cast Stan a look of anguish, his eyebrows arched, but the older man could only shrug in reply.

"Good luck in there."

"Yeah, thanks…" the taller expressed before dragging himself on, knowing his fate was waiting for him.

Delia sent him a look of compassion, her large brown eyes like that of a doe, which he appreciated in his ascent to what might as well be a cell adjacent from him. When he reached the entrance, he saw that Maureen was pacing up and down in front of the long window. Mary was drumming her fingers absently, shooting dark looks in the direction of their witness. In some ways, Marshall did not know why they bothered holding off for him. The explosion was going to go off, no matter who lit the match.

He made a stab at starting lucid banter before shutting the door, "Now, before we get into specifics…"

No sale. The minute the hinges swung into place, separating the three of them from Stan and Delia, Maureen had blasted off. She threw her parchment and envelope onto the table in a great fell swoop – they missed and went careening past Mary's head, where they hit the wall and fell with a flutter onto the carpet.

"I do not know who the _hell_ you two think you are if you think you can take my own kids away from me!" Maureen hollered vehemently. "_This_ one…" she jabbed a raised finger at Mary. "…Tried to convince Tripp to do it when he was sixteen years old – well, I guess I'm lucky he waited this long with you whispering in his ear the whole way!"

"Newsflash, Courtney Love!" Mary countered on the spot, not going to let Marshall dictate the way she dealt with this piece of trash. "Tripp's smart enough to know you're a shitty mom without my help…"

He stared at the pair of them; Maureen's eyes popping in her wrath, Mary with her hands splayed on the conference table between them, leaning toward their charge. Marshall had the strong suspicion she stood as such to keep the feeling in her knees.

"I'm supposed to be able to trust you…" Maureen threatened in a low, menacing voice, trying to perpetrate the air that she had been betrayed. "I'm supposed to be able to rely on you for my safety…"

"This has nothing to do with your safety!" Mary retorted coldly. "You botched your own security by trying to wiggle out of WITSEC and off to New Orleans!"

"I want a lawyer!" Maureen changed tack without even blinking. "You owe me a lawyer – if I have to fight Tripp for Gretel, then I will!"

"Maureen, Tripp's seeking custody of both Billy _and_ Gretel," Marshall, forever the voice of reason, cut in easily, perhaps to remind the woman that she had another son out there; one she seemed to be neglecting just as much as the first. "Full custody," he reiterated before Mary could get to this point. "And, WITSEC is not responsible for providing you with counsel. You can get a public defender; we can put you in touch with…"

His gesture of goodwill went unnoticed when Maureen fired up once more, "But I bet you got Tripp a good lawyer, didn't you?" she spat viciously, folding her arms over her chest; Marshall hoped the two would stay where they were with a table between them.

As it was, her question went unanswered, lingering like poison in the air linking them together. The silence told her everything anyway, what with Marshall looking at his feet and Mary chewing on her thumbnail in lieu of responding.

Looking deranged, Maureen flew off the handle, shattering the quiet, "_Didn't you?!_" reiterating the tail portion, possibly to emphasize the unfairness of it all.

"Tripp asked Mary for help," the man admitted, laced with far too much remorse his partner thought. "Yes. Beyond acquiring him an attorney, there is little we have done to make his case. It's up to him and his lawyer now."

"You don't think I know what that means?!" Maureen shrieked, yanking a chair with wheels out of pure aggravation, as she did not sit down. "You think I don't know you're going to be the ones to speak on his behalf in court?!"

"You obviously haven't been to court lately," Mary accused with a roll of her eyes. "How that happened, I can't imagine."

"Maureen," Marshall made another effort to bring things onto a more level plane; he did not like the negative energy radiating from the enraged woman, nor did he like seeing Mary slump forward in a painstaking endeavor to hold her own. "Tripp has made his decision. He is prepared to go to war for his brother and sister; I am sorry that it has come to this, but neither Mary nor I have made any attempt to convince him to take action…"

This, apparently, spiked Maureen's ire another several rungs, because she shoved the chair totally aside, the better to get at her female fellow. Marshall knew if she got physical one more time, between throwing the papers and manhandling the furniture, he was going to have to say something.

"You must think I'm a moron…"

Mary chose this inopportune moment to scoff and shrug, indicating this was exactly what she thought.

"Tripp _told_ me you tried to get him to take Billy and Gretel from me a long time ago…"

"Oh, would you grow up?!" Mary exclaimed loudly, standing up a little straighter just to look impressive, though it severely bothered her back. "I put the option on the table for Tripp years ago when Sandy broke through your house and tried to kill him and your other children! If you ask me, _you_ think _he's_ the idiot – thinking he can't spot what an inconsiderate asshole of a parent you are!"

"You can go to hell!" was Maureen's only retort. "You can both go to hell! You're pathetic if you think you've been more of a mother to my son than I've been…"

"I wouldn't have to be his mother if he already had one."

At this, the slimmer of the two went stomping around the table, every line in her face showing how livid she was, mere feet from Mary – within striking distance. Marshall knew Maureen had always railed against Mary because she'd been Tripp's confidante while she had not, but they were in far too deep now to be dwelling over past mistakes.

The supposedly-injured party gulped defiantly as she carried on with her tirade, her tone ominously deep with anger.

"Your conceited superiority makes me _sick_…" Maureen's eyes flashed treacherously, her skin reddened and blotchy.

Mary just stared her down, waiting for the moment she would shut up so she could get her digs in.

"I am a _widow_…"

The inspector had wondered when the sympathy card would get played.

"And, until you have walked in my shoes – when I lost Ben…" her voice broke unexpectedly, almost sincerely, and Mary considered taking a step back until she went on. She figured Ben must be Tripp's father. "I lost _everything_. I lost everything _twice_ when I had to come to this God forsaken town…"

The fact that she was near tears did not rattle Mary one iota. They were not tears of sadness or regret. They were tears of antagonism, of resentment, and terror at finally having been called out on her sorry excuse for parenting.

"And now you want to steal my children from me too!"

She was so close Mary could smell her breath, which didn't bode well, as she caught the whiff of scrambled eggs. Eggs almost always made her throw up.

"When will you get this through your head?" Mary emitted the best haughty look she possessed. "_We're_ not doing anything…" she indicated Marshall. "_Tripp_ put this in motion, _Tripp_ thinks you're a sad sack of a mother – the fact that I agree with him is just the cherry on top here…"

Evidently, her reaffirming her beliefs in Maureen's rearing abilities had Marshall thinking this might rouse their witness.

"Mary…" he hissed under his breath, willing her with just the use of her name to back off, but she disregarded his pleas.

"How the hell could you have not seen this coming?" she wondered aloud, throwing up her hands as though to say the whole thing had been insanely obvious. "You're the one who was complaining to me just a few days ago that you and Tripp don't even speak to each other – how did you think he was going to react when you tried to leave the state?"

"You're going to pay for this…" Maureen altered right back to threatening, raising one of her hands now, which was a definite warning sign for Marshall. He stepped forward. "You are going to pay for trying to break up my family…"

"You tell yourself that," Mary mumbled nonchalantly; she was getting hot though; the tank-top she wore underneath her shirt was becoming damp with sweat. "I'll be getting the last laugh, trust me…"

"Mary, don't aggravate this…" Marshall suggested, quietly enough he hoped that Maureen wouldn't pick up on it. And then, in a slightly raised voice, "Let's not say anything we're going to regret. Why don't we sit down and try to talk…?"

This produced a most unfavorable reaction from Maureen, "I'm not gonna talk to this bitch!"

The rest came in fray of hurled insults and flurrying limbs; it all happened so quickly there wasn't time to bat an eye. But, just as rapidly, Mary's level of repugnance for Maureen flew to a ten on the Richter scale. The name-calling was the final blow; she forgot that she was eight months pregnant with every crevice of her body already screaming in pain. She acted on instinct; on impulse.

"You want to see a bitch…?!"

"Mary…"

Marshall intervened, stepping up to the middle ground, but Mary's hand had a mind of its own. She reached out, trying to shove the one who was throwing words around, but hit her partner instead.

"MARY!"

He staggered, though unhurt, and Maureen took her opportunity, knowing exactly where that errant hand was meant to land.

"Those two brats you're carrying would be better off on someone's doorstep than with an intrusive pain in the ass like you…"

Marshall had recovered, "That's enough!" he used his sharpest, most dangerous, most treacherous voice, but Maureen was too far gone to hear.

"You will ruin their lives like you ruined my son's! I hope they rot in hell along with you…!"

Hatred such as Mary had never known bubbled like hot wax in her core and she lunged before Marshall could stop her. This time, she made contact with the intended target, a hard and fast push right in the middle of her chest, one that caused a commotion as though she'd pulled out her gun and popped her one.

"You piece of…!" Maureen fell against the table in quite the acting job.

"Tripp better kick your ass straight to the curb!"

Out of nowhere, Stan entered into their midst; he must've been watching the brawl from the main room.

"What the hell is going on?!"

"How dare you…?!"

Maureen was up; ready to pummel back, but Mary was prepared.

"Try it…!"

But, Marshall had-had his fill.

"MARY! STOP IT NOW!"

He shouted as Mary had never heard him shout before, his voice echoing like a chiming church bell in the tiny space. It was cut and etched with a harshness – and also a desperation – that said he was furious, but despairing. He clutched her arm so tightly he might've been trying to bind and gag her on the spot. When she looked up into his face, she was startled; he was a different man. The ordinary blue eyes, once so soft and serene, were hard and steely; a swirling mass of darkest grey. She could see that his jaw was set, that he was all-but grinding his teeth in an attempt not to lose total control.

Stan raised the subject first, much less at stake than his two inspectors. His eyes flickered from the panting Maureen, to the frightening Marshall, to the infuriated but bemused Mary and got right down to business.

"I don't know what you three think you're doing in here, but you'd better cut the crap or expect to be reported – or eliminated – in no time flat!" his first threat was for Mary and Marshall, the second for Maureen. "You!" he rounded on the witness. "Sit your ass down!"

Quailing underneath Stan's booming tone – with which Mary, at least, was much more accustomed – Maureen did as told, but he wasn't finished.

"If I see you bullying anyone from the Marshal Service again, you are on the train to the state pen; you got that?"

Maureen could only huff and glare, but she did not object. Mary knew now that Stan had taken care of her, he would get to his employees. Marshall's nails were still digging into her flesh; she wanted to throw him off, but was still reeling from hearing him scream as he had.

"Marshall, I want you in here, going over the logistics of Tripp's case. If Miss Sullivan has questions, she can direct them to her attorney when she hires one," he demanded, surprisingly intimidating given his short stature. "Understood?"

Marshall gave several slow swallows, but eventually nodded, at the same time relinquishing his clench on Mary's arm.

"Yes, chief," the answer was wholly professional.

And Mary was sure it was her turn. She also knew her irritation was not likely to abate if she had estimated Stan's orders correctly. Judging by the way his deep brown eyes focused unwaveringly on her own, not up for arguments, she knew she was sunk.

"Mary, outside."

Her gut reaction was to protest, and heartily, but she'd barely opened her mouth before being shut down.

"Now."

By the time Mary had given in and tramped out, she ascertained several things about her spherical form. Her heart was beating so fast she thought it was likely she would have a stroke and collapse. The fabric on her top was absolutely soaked through with perspiration; it was doubtful Stan couldn't smell her from across the office.

Breathless and edgy, Mary knew her chosen method of closing Maureen's mouth was not the ideal one. She was fast to realize her mistake now that she was out of the element, but controlling her emotions since becoming pregnant had been her biggest challenge. She never took cruelty lying down, and it had been a nearly impossible habit to break.

Ashamed, but still seething, Mary detoured past her desk immediately and headed straight for the double doors. She didn't know where she was going, but she knew she couldn't stay here. She couldn't wait for Marshall to come out and tear into her for losing her temper.

Unfortunately, Stan had other ideas.

"Whoa-whoa-whoa…" he scuttled right after her, visibly unsure whether he should reach out and touch her. He decided against it and just did his best to keep up. "What are you doing? Where are you going?"

"Where does 'outside' mean to you?" Mary snapped the first comeback she could think of, which was not a very good one. She swiped her badge in the slot and pulled the door, Stan hot on her heels. "You're the one who always criticizes me for not following direct orders."

To her chagrin, she had to halt to wait for the elevator, which gave Stan a second to get his piece in. There were evident signs that he was torn between yelling at her and asking if she felt all right. If he'd heard everything Maureen had said, he undoubtedly felt sorry for her, knowing that when she'd gone after the kids, all bets were off.

Still debating to an extent, he settled on somewhere in-between.

"Mary, you know that kind of behavior is uncalled for," sticking a hand on his hip, but not barking. "We're professionals here. I'm letting it slide, but you know I'll have to write you up next time."

Mary jeered wordlessly, knowing this was an empty warning. Stan had made many a promise over the years that he was going to report Mary, but in the end she always came around or he dealt with her himself.

"Beyond the WITSEC side of things…" he went on hesitantly, and Mary tensed. "Kiddo…" the renewed use of affection registered significantly with Mary; it meant Stan was trying to butter her up. "I know you are miserable, but you have _got_ to simmer down and be a little more careful."

She scowled, "That's not your call," not even acknowledging his kindness for her well-being.

"Maybe not," he forfeited only partially, leaning a hand on the wall beside the elevator buttons. "But, I don't have to tell you that there's more at risk here than yourself…"

"That's right, you don't," Mary snapped, irked that he would act as though she didn't consider the twins' protection as much as her own, but evidently that was not what he meant.

"If you'd open your eyes a little, you would see that Marshall is _killing_ himself to make sure that nothing even slightly detrimental comes near you," he placed a jarring emphasis on one word in particular. "His life has come to a standstill trying to keep you and the kids, not just safe, but happy."

Disgruntled, Mary knew this was true. It was also true that she didn't necessarily voice her approval of Marshall as much as she could – she'd taken it for granted that he knew how much she treasured him. He did go far beyond the call of duty. For as much as he loved her, he didn't have to keep the thermostat blasting cold air. He didn't have to offer to reorganize his schedule. He didn't have to hold her hair back while she vomited six times a night. He didn't have to lose sleep just because she was. Most men might engage that way, but few would be as chipper and lenient about it as Marshall.

And Mary's repentance for her actions only intensified. She really was a basket case.

"I'm just saying…" Stan segued when he received no verbal reaction. "At least try to yield to what he wants once in awhile – and all he wants is for you to stay cool. You think you can do that?"

Mary could not honestly say. How was she to know how she'd perform under pressure? All the uncertainty that was ahead made her especially prone to outbursts. The crux of her entire existence was getting the kids on earth without a hitch, something even Marshall could not promise her. She couldn't be scared around him when his number one priority was keeping her sensible.

Stan didn't seem to expect harmony, however, and decided to leave his tough-boss-routine aside.

"Now…" once again, he battled the urge to lay a hand on her or not, fingers fluttering pointlessly in midair. "Don't go anywhere. Come have a seat. What can I get you?"

Mary was sick to death of this question. She was sick of knowing the answer but not being able to voice it – of knowing there was no savior waiting to grant the wish she hankered for most of all – content, vigorous, bouncing babies. These men kept trying to swear shelter on her over and over again, and they couldn't. They couldn't.

And so, Mary could not respond tactfully, as anyone else would.

"Can you make it so I can eat pickles again?"

She was hungry, but could not eat.

"Can you make it so I can sleep on my belly again?"

She was tired, but could not rest.

"Can you make it so my kids show up healthy and more than three pounds apiece?"

So many fears, and no place to put them.

"When you can get me that…" she shook her head irrationally. "Then I'll be back."

And, as the elevator had arrived, she left Stan, looking hurt and bewildered in her wake as the doors slid shut.

XXX

**A/N: I admit I was a tad worried I went overboard with this chapter, but I hope not. What would my stories be without drama? ;) **


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: I love it when reviewers get caught up all at once! Even though I love right-away-reviews, I totally understand if people can't give feedback immediately, and it's always fun to see a whole bunch at once!**

XXX

Marshall's adrenaline was pumping so fast, that even when he finished with Maureen, he still felt as though he'd run a mile. For a split second during the tussle, he'd been sure that Maureen was going to shove Mary – he'd been in law enforcement long enough to spot the signs. His antagonism toward their witness was tenfold, but Mary retaliating did not make him very pleased with her either. She might still be as rugged as they came, but she was in a much more vulnerable state. She could not predict how one, seemingly small, jostle would affect her and the babies.

Marshall also harbored some miniscule trinket of bitterness toward Stan; virtually unidentifiable, but there nonetheless. The inspector knew Mary was the one they had to look out for, and he would've made the same choice were he in the chief's position. But, didn't Stan think it was just as hard for him to wrangle Maureen? Mary's twins were his twins. He hadn't exactly wanted to drink in the woman's implications that his children should go to hell along with their parents.

For all these reasons, it was lucky for both Stan and Mary that they were nowhere in sight when he emerged from the conference room, Maureen sashaying her way back through the double doors. The only one around was Delia, and she stood up from her desk the minute Marshall appeared. He was grateful on some level. He could at least be confident Delia wouldn't judge him if he told her how he was truly feeling.

"Put out the fire?" she inquired shyly, almost as though she was afraid Marshall might pop off on her.

"Fleetingly," he replied cagily, running a hand over his somewhat-unshaven face, feeling the bristles scratch his skin. "If you listen to Maureen though, I do not believe she is outlawing some form of revenge. She is set on thinking Mary and I talked Tripp into chasing full custody."

Delia shook her head sadly, "Those poor kids. So much upheaval and not knowing who to turn to."

Marshall found this to be a refreshingly magnanimous response from his colleague, and nodded his approval almost instantly.

"Yes," he included to back it up. "Yes. It is thorny situation for everyone."

Delia didn't immediately offer anything else, but she must have picked up on Marshall's strain, because she left the sanctuary of her desk to be right in front of him. He wasn't used to a woman quite so short; Mary was almost as tall as he was when she wore her heels. Nonetheless, Delia emanated a kind of clout no matter what her height.

"It's a good thing it'll be out of our hands here pretty soon…" she was obviously trying to give Marshall something positive to fixate on. "Once Maureen gets a lawyer, it'll be between them, won't it?"

"Yes…" Marshall repeated, now caressing the back of his neck, for it was stiff. "Tripp's lawyer may ask Mary or me to give testimony in his support down the road – that is, if he thinks it would help. But, that's for a month or two in the future…" he trailed off.

Delia sensed that his mind was not with their conversation, but with Mary. No matter how aggravated he might be, he was still worried about her; it was in his blood.

"I'm sure Maureen wouldn't have really tried to hurt Mary…" she voiced cautiously, still zeroing in on the blankness of Marshall's normally vibrant eyes. "She was all hot and bothered, but she came to her senses, didn't she?"

Marshall could only shake his head and exhale, though he did laugh somewhat sardonically before answering for real. His brain felt like it had been spinning in six different directions in the last week. With Mary's due date fast approaching, he was as much of a head case as she was.

"Eventually, but it took some doing," he said, submitting about Maureen. "And, I don't know how sure I am that she wouldn't have hit Mary – not the way they were going at it."

"Well, emotions running high and all…" Delia hunched her shoulders indifferently; she didn't have a dog in this fight. "But, it's a good thing Stan stepped in when he did. The witnesses need to know there's none of that around here…"

"True…" Marshall bobbed his head absently. "True."

But, Delia's presence just didn't seem to compute in his system. She was in a far less complicated world than he was right now, and part of him wanted deeply to step inside it, if only for a minute. Alleviating Mary's worries while simultaneously trying to break up brawls and keep his own qualms at bay was a full-time job. He was appreciative of Delia working so steadfastly to be of assistance, but wasn't certain he could be reached at present.

Where was Mary? Had she tried to leave? Fitting in the driver's seat was highly problematic anymore. If she had left, where had she gone? Was Stan with her? And what were they doing? The questions never ended.

Delia's soothing timbre interrupted his internal dialogue for probably the third time. Marshall had lost track already.

"Can I do something to help you out, Marshall?" she dipped her chin onto her chest and peered quizzically into his empty eyes, which were fixed on a point somewhere over her shoulder at nothing in particular. "I'm always one to rally the troops, you know, and you have so much going on. If you need a break…"

This was exactly what he needed but Marshall, like Mary in his own unique way, didn't always know how to accept a hand of good fortune. While Mary thought she could do the job better than anyone around her, Marshall simply didn't want to put out or inconvenience another unnecessarily.

But, he smiled kindly at the newest member of the WITSEC team, "Thanks Delia but, like you said, I have faith things will simmer down soon enough," he didn't honestly feel as such, but it was important to put on the façade. "I know where to find you though."

"Well, I know that Mary is very close to Tripp," she assumed with a twinkle in her warm eyes that was undoubtedly reveling in Mary feeling affection this way. "I'm sure she wants to see this through before those little darlings arrive next month," grinning widely to show all her teeth; a smile of genuine excitement.

Marshall nodded automatically, thinking another month was looking very optimistic, but that was Delia to a T. She radiated sunshine, a trait that sometimes put her at odds with Mary – although they did get along much better than they used to.

Instead of articulating his concerns that his children would not withstand the test of time in Mary's uterus, he latched on to Delia's hypothesis about Tripp. While he had denied her the opportunity to assist with the custody proceedings, he knew an impartial third party could sometimes be beneficial in sticky circumstances like these.

"Do you think what he's doing is best for everyone?" Marshall directed his glance straight to the woman this time, probably surprising her with how speedily he'd changed topics. "Tripp, that is. You don't think this has anything to do with payback? He's had a rough go; it would be hard to hold him too responsible."

Delia did indeed appear startled by being asked her opinion about something so important, although Marshall had deferred to her on more than one occasion. She balked at first, even skittering backward on the floor in her bafflement.

"I don't really think I know enough about the case…"

"You know enough," Marshall hoped he could trust her on that. "And, in some ways, Mary is a little too close to the heart of this whole thing not to look through rose-colored glasses."

Delia's face turned suddenly solemn, "Because of her dad and how she had to raise her sister just like Tripp's raising _his_ brother and sister?"

Marshall nodded slowly, "Right."

His fellow inspector did not explain her views right away. She leaned a hand on her desktop, apparently thinking carefully first. Marshall watched as her mouth moved side-to-side, perhaps to mull over the situation from multiple angles. One of the things he liked best about Delia was that she was pleasant, but not a pushover. He had seen her give hell to others in the past, and it never ceased to amaze.

When she did finally speak, it was not necessarily something Marshall expected to hear.

"My brother Nelson is a widow. I'm not sure if I ever mentioned that."

Indeed she hadn't. Marshall wasn't even definite on whether he'd known Delia had a brother, let alone a brother who was a widow.

"No, I had no idea," he confessed, paying strict attention now. "Does he live around here?"

"No, he's in Ohio with my mother," she clarified briefly. "But, his wife – Elizabeth – was in a bad car accident almost ten years after they were married. They had two children, just four and seven when she passed."

Delia spoke about this whole scenario as if it was routine, but Marshall couldn't imagine how. Strangely, he also felt a kind of mourning for Elizabeth, though he hadn't known the woman. Something about the way Delia explained so matter-of-factly, but with a smidgen of fondness in her bashful smile, told him she must've been quite a lady.

"I'm sorry Delia…" he put forth out of courtesy. "That must've been quite the ordeal for your family."

She shrugged, "For my brother, yeah," she owned up to that. "It really changed him – I wouldn't go so far as to say for better or worse, but the change…" a short pause. "It's definitely there."

Marshall thought he could collect where this conversation was headed now, though he'd had a pretty good idea from the very beginning. The connection between Nelson being a widow and Maureen suffering the same fate was not lost on him. He was about to learn Delia's forlorn contribution to this mess.

"He isolated himself…" she went on, again in that same tone of refined bluntness. "Shut himself off from the rest of the family for awhile. The kids were what kept us together. I think seeing the rest of us move on with our lives the way he was supposed to have done was just too much for him."

This made perfect sense to Marshall, who was now keen to hear the rest.

"I have another brother besides him, and two sisters. Clinging to the past kept Nelson from really grieving what happened to Elizabeth…"

The name struck a chord in Marshall for the second time, but he allowed Delia to finish.

"I mean, I'm no Doctor Finkel…" a good-natured grin. "But, I think those of us who have been so unlucky in life find it a whole lot harder to move on," now there was a swallow. "I can't condone what Maureen's put those kids through, but there are two sides to every story."

"Yes," Marshall finally interspersed her monologue with input of his own. "There are. It is a sad state of affairs all around. But, Mary and I have exhausted all of our best efforts over the years to get Maureen on the right track. She just can't seem to stay on it."

In his mind's eye, Marshall saw a beaten path with a fork in the road, one way idealistic and bright; full of all the clichéd butterflies and meadows. The opposite direction showed danger; gnarled trees and low hanging blackbirds. He could envision Maureen delving off through the darkness, on the road that would lead her astray.

He rapidly jerked himself back to the present. His brain seemed to think in fairytales a lot lately with the twins on the way – fatherhood presented its own set of divided streets. He would either plummet through the gloom, or sail wild and free off into the blue clouds and sunlight.

"Unexpected loss isn't anything we should have to fool with…" Delia was still talking over Marshall's hallucination. "And if Maureen's husband Ben was anything like Elizabeth…"

Marshall offered a smile of his own, "She was something else, huh?" targeting Delia's sister-in-law, wanting to know more.

"Oh, like you wouldn't believe!" she gushed enthusiastically. "Full of love and light – never saw her without a smile on her face! Made everyone around her a better person – and ten times happier for it!" she sounded much more like her old self now, and Marshall was glad he had not bummed her out too badly.

"She sounds kind of like you," he complimented her genially. "You must miss her."

"I do," Delia affirmed, but she did not lose her thousand-watt grin. "I really do."

The man wished in that moment that everyone could be more like Delia – willing to see the terrible demise of a loved one as a chance to remember them in harmony. She sought a way to build up another even in death; to recall their utmost attributes with joy, rather than sorrow.

But, before he could voice how much he admired this about her, he heard a familiar, no-nonsense tone sound from across the room.

"Marshall? You got a minute?"

Stan, it transpired, was not far away, unseen though he might have been to the two inspectors. Knowing it was his duty to go at the sound of the alarm, Marshall sent Delia a friendly, obliging look. Fortunately, he knew she understood why he had to tend to the task at hand.

"Thank-you for the help," he uttered cordially. "See you later."

She nodded and allowed him to go on his merry way, although how merry it was going be, Marshall couldn't dream. He even thought he could detect his own feet slowing down in the march to Stan's office. Regardless, he arrived in due time to see the chief hunched over his desk, his bald head shining almost luminously beneath the fluorescent bulbs. Marshall had to clear his throat to get him to look up.

"Yes sir?"

He pinned the formality on the end to show Stan he was teasing, but also to show that the need for an authority figure had not been overlooked. He was fully aware that both he and Mary had earned the thrashing Stan had laid down when he'd burst into the conference room.

A point in the taller's favor was that Stan accepted the salutation and stood up to join Marshall where he stood in the doorframe. He looked at this as a good sign. If Stan didn't want him to sit down or shut the door, whatever he had to say couldn't be too punishing.

"You get everything with Maureen squared away?" he asked initially, wanting the full report.

"For now," Marshall promised. "She's still pretty heated up, but I did what I could. Beyond our evidence of Tripp's ongoing accountability, it'll be in the lawyer's hands now."

"Good…good…" Stan gave a nod of approval, but wasted no time in getting down to the nitty-gritty, knowing what was on the mind of both he and Marshall. "Listen inspector, about what happened before…"

Marshall held up a hand as a precursor, "No explanation necessary," he vowed. "Mary and I let it get out of hand. You had every right to step in."

Stan looked somewhat taken aback by Marshall's understanding, but he shouldn't have been. Marshall was a stand-up guy, as humble as they came. If he'd done something wrong, he'd be the first to own up it.

"Well, Mary's fine…" Stan continued once he came back from investigating the other man's nobility. "Physically, anyway. She's downstairs; I had Henry hold her before she went flying out into the street."

Marshall couldn't help but chuckle at the image this created, "Thanks."

He did not surmise that Mary was thrilled with being told to stay put, but she'd already been such a mess, he doubted it would make much difference. In any case, she liked Henry the desk guard as well as she liked anybody, who was very old school and called Mary 'ma'am' when he wasn't addressing her as 'Miss Shannon.' She consistently told him to use her first name, but Marshall knew she secretly basked in the attention of any older man who even slightly reminded her of her father.

"Marshall," Stan broke in after a moment's silence. "I want you to take her home."

He'd expected this, "I will," if he had to drag her by the ear, he would.

"I really think you should take the afternoon too. Some day in the very near future you are going to have to cut back whether you want to or not," entailing the arrival of the babies. "You might as well practice now."

Marshall felt as though he was under much duress in how he would explain to Stan that he could not leave because he had so much to do, but Stan had pretty much covered why that didn't matter. But, part of who he was-was taking care of every corner of his life, with or without the aid of Mary. She had to be able to depend on him for everything.

"If Mary's not working…" he finally settled on, biting his lip in an attempt to educate Stan the best way he could. "And I'm not working, she'll worry about what's going on in our wake, and she doesn't need anything else to worry about…"

"Neither do you!" Stan nearly turned his booming voice back on, but brought it down quickly. "Marshall, we can handle things here. You don't have to take leave tomorrow, I'm just telling you…" a warm, paternal hand landed on his forearm. "Mary is gonna worry no matter what. She's neurotic when it comes to these kids, and I mean that in the most flattering way possible…"

Marshall grinned softly against his will.

"And, I hate to tell you this, but promising her the moon at every turn will not keep the twins in any longer…" very philosophical for Stan. "I'm not even sure it'll make Mary believe it."

It was a bleak thought, but Marshall knew it was probably true. Mary was an expert at analyzing every nook and cranny of a problem until she found the root. There was no root when it came to the pregnancy; all they could do was wait and deal with the instance when it presented itself. He could be by her side, pledge his devotion, but it only took them so far.

"I'm just doing my best…" he croaked in an oddly shaky voice, but gulped hard in hopes of sounding more normal when he spoke again.

"I know you are," now Stan patted his arm sympathetically. "And I know she's putting you through the wringer; you've been incredible. Not many men would take it so well."

Marshall didn't know how well he was taking it, not with so many fears of his own, but didn't say so.

"And, if it's any comfort, I know that Mary is a stubborn old broad, especially when it comes to someone like Maureen…" Marshall sensed finality in his boss' speech now, wishing to wrap everything up. "But, she is beating herself up left, right, and center to keep those kids sheltered…"

"Believe me, I know…" Marshall intoned quietly.

"…If she really thought pummeling Maureen was going to put them in danger, she wouldn't have gone into the fray," he concluded soundly, finishing with a rough squeeze of the bones in Marshall's arm. "I hope you believe that. She's got hellish instincts, Mary does. She knows herself well enough to know when to call it quits."

And, with a sigh of relief that said Stan was giving him something substantial to cling to, Marshall knew without doubt that Mary's instincts were the surest thing they could count on in the days to come.

It was her prevailing, God-given drive and impulse that would tell them when to shrink to a jog and when to sprint, full-steam ahead, to the finish line.

XXX

**A/N: Little bit of a shorter chapter, and some compassionate Delia for good measure. I didn't include Delia in a lot of my older stories because I wasn't sure how to write her when she was so sunny all the time. But, it was great to glimpse another side of her during season five, particularly Four Marshals and a Baby; I always love a multi-faceted character, and I thought Marshall needed a sympathetic ear on this one!**


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: Onward and upward, folks!**

XXX

Thus ensued a very uptight sundown for Mary and Marshall. Their evenings were fairly quiet anyway, what with Marshall functioning beyond his capacity and Mary just trying to stand erect for a full day. But, this had an air all its own. Mary had transferred into giving Marshall the silent treatment after he'd directed her homeward at Stan's urging. She sat on the couch, glowering darkly at him from over the top of the book she was reading, while he tried fruitlessly to make a dinner that she could actually eat.

Marshall, the more balanced of the two, knew both were hiding what really had them in sour moods. Mary, while annoyed at being told to hang back and watch her step, had been doing as such the duration of her pregnancy, and wasn't unfamiliar with Marshall reminding her. It was her dread over the kids' well-being that made her so surly, not to mention Maureen's outlandish insinuations that Marshall was too good for her, that she didn't deserve to have children. Marshall himself was caught in a net trying to maintain his own decorated glories about being a father, all the while working diligently every day so Mary would not be scared. He hated to think of her being scared, no matter how obnoxious she was acting.

But, they sat noiseless even so, one the eternal idealist – putting parenthood on a pedestal – the other the constant naysayer, refusing to believe the opportunity for parenting would arrive until the babies were home safe and sound. Marshall knew in his heart they were going to have to find a little more equilibrium, but they were tangled up in their own worlds at the moment; a far cry from basing anything on reason.

Therefore, he was somewhat caught off guard when Mary approached him in the kitchen, her thumb marking the place in her book. She still did not look like she was anywhere near forgiving him or reducing her acidity, but the silence must've been getting to her. Marshall stayed where he was, stirring sauce on the stove.

He heard the stool scrape across the linoleum with his back turned, and he knew Mary had braved getting a leg up and sitting at the island. He could even distinguish the tiniest of sighs come out her mouth, but he wasn't tempted to turn right away.

"You know, there's a lot of shit in this book they don't explain very well."

Glad Mary couldn't see his face, Marshall smirked at the way she masked her displeasure in a question – that she held firm on being angry even when she was past endurance. When he was certain he wasn't going to lose his poker face, he rotated to see what she was talking about. She was rifling though the book she'd mentioned, her free hand resting underneath her chin. The setting sun was casting stripes on her face through the blinds on the kitchen window.

"What book are we talking about?" Marshall kept his timbre decidedly dispassionate, not showing his hand one way or another.

Mary did not lose her frown and waggled the cover at him. By squinting fast, he could see that it was one of the many pregnancy books he'd bought for them – mostly for himself. He was aware that she read them, but she usually engaged when he wasn't home. She didn't want him to know she was actually interested but, in his mind, knowledge was power given how unnerved she was.

"What's confusing?" again, Marshall didn't commit to being intrigued just yet, not when she was still sulking.

After searching for the correct page, "What's an episiotomy? They throw the word around like 'labor pains' but they don't define it."

Marshall could assume that by 'they' Mary meant the authors, but he was not attracted to specifying the details of this specific procedure. Anything that rocketed his partner's baby-peril-phobia was to be avoided. On the other hand, if he hedged his bets, Mary would know he was holding out on her, and likely for a reason. She'd led him right into the sniper fire.

"I'm not sure you want to know," he construed that being up front with her was probably the most harmless choice.

Mary scrunched her nose, true to form, "Would I have asked if I didn't want to know, Poindexter?"

Perhaps not, he thought, but sometimes ignorance was bliss. He couldn't help thinking this was one of those times. Maybe he could be honest without getting into the rockiest portions. The trouble was if Mary would buy it.

"It's an incision the doctor would make prior to you delivering so you wouldn't tear."

This altered Mary's hardened features, if nothing else. She raised her eyebrows at this bizarre statement, looking utterly baffled. Whatever she had planned on hearing, it evidently was not this. As a defense mechanism, Marshall guessed, she decided to play dumb.

"An incision where?"

Marshall took his time turning the burner down on the paste he was mixing, licking a finger that had swept his wooden spoon. He saw little to no way out of this, but he was pretty good at fine-tuning when he wanted to be. Turning and leaning against the counter, he kept eye contact with Mary, picking each word very deliberately.

She could figure this out on her own, "Well. Let's say you had a natural childbirth. Where are you most likely to tear during a delivery?"

Upon hearing this, Mary shut the book with a snap. Marshall even thought he saw her shudder once she put the pieces together, a sight that made his frustration with her decrease slightly. She might be driving him up the wall, as Stan had said more eloquently, but she did have far more uncertainties to contend with than he did – none of them amusing and all of them pending until further notice.

Her green eyes, droopy and sapped of resilience from lack of sleep, blinked resolutely at the countertop in front of her so she wouldn't have to look at Marshall. He had the notion she was self-conscious just trying to represent an episiotomy in her subconscious.

"They do this for sure?" she said to the table, donning 'they' as the doctors this time.

Marshall shook his head, "No. Only if the kid – kids – don't seem to have enough room to get out, for want of a better term," he was beginning to wish she would look at him again, but she was determinedly fiddling with a stray thread on her shirt. "I'm not an expert, but I would think that in the unlikely event you go through natural childbirth, the probability is not very high that you would need one."

He could tell Mary didn't want to put forth any more issues, but was curious against her will, "Why not?"

And this was where Marshall felt stuck, trapped beneath Mary's looming glare. She would whack him as she had almost whacked Maureen if she found out he was lying, as he wanted to. But, it was equally possible she would be just as pissed if he explained the reasoning behind his theory. Knowing he had no choice, he landed on the truth once again, centering himself with a hand on the counter across the room for support.

"I am inclined to believe the twins will be small enough that enlarging their exit route will not be necessary…" he even tried to be funny, tried to lose his stately persona, but knew from the way Mary's eyebrows pinched inward that he was ruined before he'd finished. "It's more common in larger babies – over nine pounds – and you are not carrying eighteen pounds of child."

His lighthearted jokes did not cheer Mary up. As soon as he'd mentioned the size of the babies, she'd pawed the book aside, where it fell into the extra sink at the island. She stood up much faster than Marshall would've thought she was capable of, and gave him a glance that clearly said she was dying to release her dissatisfaction.

"You really think you're clever, don't you?" she snarled spitefully. "'Enlarging their exit route…'" a scoff. "You are such a trip. I can't believe I even asked you."

Marshall did not take well to being blamed, given the day they'd had, "But you _did_ ask, and I told you what I knew," he asserted boldly. "It isn't my fault you didn't like what you heard. I'm sure it's unsettling, but…"

Even trying to give her kudos didn't work, "Do you ever stop with all this guaranteeing at every turn?" she leaned on the outside of the island now, about five feet from Marshall's nose. "Are you in this house?" a finger jutting at her belly. "Are you feeling the way these kids twist and pull my every internal organ? Are they wielding swords and pitchforks against _your_ hoo-hah, ready to strike?!"

She became still more disturbed the longer she ranted, her hand flying violently in front of her, implicating meager Marshall, whose obliging reassurances had no effect on her.

"Until they do, you don't know what's going to happen to them, and you sure as hell don't know what's going to happen to _me_!"

"What do you want to hear then?" Marshall shot back, shocked at his own audacity; sparring with Mary in the current climate could not produce a constructive result. "Do you _want_ to hear that there's a definite prospect the twins will have problems when they're born? Do you want to hear that they're going to be hooked up to monitors and tubes – that they might not be able to breathe correctly? That they'll be in the hospital for weeks?"

Marshall was alarming himself with such talk, as he never let those horrific images invade his sanguine vision of paternity. But, it was child's play compared to how Mary looked; she was nothing short of mystified that he would put those potentials on the table. If he alleged that it could happen, it almost certainly could. She was shaking her head at him, puffing for air she had lost in hollering.

But Marshall, in a stroke of dominance he hadn't known he possessed, was weirdly satisfied to have knocked Mary off her game. It proved that her misgivings could not be quenched, no matter how hard he tried; that it wasn't because of a blunder he'd made.

"I didn't think so," he'd accomplished something, though there was injudicious, unplanned savage pleasure in his four words. "If you wanted to hear the truth, you wouldn't freak out every time someone mentions that the kids will be premature."

"Maybe not…!" Mary found her viciousness once more and got right back on the horse. "Maybe I don't want to hear it, but you and your sunshine and roses fantasy is a crock! You can't make whatever happens to them go away by writing some enchanted woodland story where they're riding unicorns over some rainbow!"

This was a gross exaggeration, but Marshall had to be at least somewhat awed that Mary knew him so well. He'd strived very hard not to lose the positive side of his personality when he'd gotten together with Mary; he harbored her cynicism very fondly because it was part of who she was. But, not wanting to become acerbic as well, perhaps he'd gone too far the other direction.

"You can't do this for me!" Mary burst again as he thought about all this, and he distinctly heard her voice break, a red alert because it meant she might cry. "The kids depend on _me_ and _only_ me until they get here! Why does everyone think that if they fuss over me until I'm in pieces that-that changes?"

"I don't think that…" the man attempted to bring down the appearance of a warzone because he was glad that Mary was finally opening up a little, though if she surrendered to tears he would feel terrible.

Mary cried just as little as she had before she'd lost Jamie; if she were to revert to that, he would know her emotions were identical to what she'd felt after the miscarriage; a danger sign if ever there was one.

"I just think that you're so scared…" Marshall tried to pick up his thread, to school her on where he was coming from, but the final word was the only one she seemed to hear.

"But…can't you just…_let_ me be scared?!" she practically detonated, voice reverberating in the kitchen so powerfully that Beatrix skittered into their midst, wondering what on earth all the commotion was about. Her ears were perked, her head twirling almost three hundred and sixty degrees around, but Mary ignored her. "I _am_ scared…!"

And Marshall knew then that he would have to step down; be the bigger man. Mary admitting she was scared, point-blank, was monumental. There was no telling how humiliating it was for her to say it out loud. He was proud, but discouraged all at the same time.

"I'm gonna be scared for the next eighteen years and then some – can't you just get used to it?!"

Marshall didn't know what to say or do. He was absorbed in this woman, this woman he loved so deeply, and yet found it tragic, watching her scream herself hoarse. Her eyes were wild, almost maddening, she was so frantic to make him understand. There was an intimidation about her nonetheless; the way she stood stock still in front of him, imposing her gargantuan size, as if to say, 'I am here and I am woman. Take me as I am.'

Unfortunately, he pondered this one second too long, because blurting out that she was frightened seemed to come back to Mary. She tried to dash forward, to cover up the entire argument.

"Oh, forget it!" she waved a willful hand in his face and rolled her eyes. "Just…give me dinner or something! I'm done with this!"

Before Marshall could blink, she'd trudged across to the oven, grabbed the wooden spoon he'd been using to stir, and dipped it into the cooling sauce on the stove. He opened his mouth to caution her, to tell her it might be better seasoned with something so it was not so spicy, but she'd already combed the utensil clean before he could speak.

"What's in this?!" she flung into their boiling squabble, mouth still full of the substance.

"It has jalapeños; I think it would be improved if…"

He didn't bother going on. He knew from the way Mary dropped the spoon with a clatter and covered her mouth with her hand that it was too late. Her face went from rosy to green to sheet-white so fast he was astounded someone wasn't turning a dial somewhere.

In a flash, all the tension between them vanished, "Mary, I'm sorry; I didn't know…"

She barely had time to shake her head and croak, "Jesus…"

And then she was gone, pattering down the hall, Beatrix in her wake, a mad rush for the bathroom; Marshall's only hope at this point was that she made it in time. He thought it best that he not follow her initially, not after the way they'd been dueling; that he wouldn't add to her mortification by watching her vomit.

He might not have had a backstage pass, but he was still in the middle balcony, as he could hear the spattering and retching from a room away; every sickening splash in the toilet made him feel worse. She would cough once or twice, and then her stomach would betray her again, fueling more of the day's food up her throat. Beatrix even mewed pitifully amongst the regurgitation, like she knew her master was alone and was begging Marshall to come and ease her pain.

After a few minutes, Marshall rubbing his eyes leisurely and trying to wait it out to spare Mary a little bit of dignity, he knew he couldn't stand sedentary any longer. The noises of Mary heaving and choking, puking what sounded like everything she'd eaten in the last week, made him ache, in the flesh. It seemed jalapeños were just as bad as pickles, if not worse. He left his spot alongside the counter and wandered back to the bathroom, eyes landing upon a sight that never failed to beat a triad of mercy, kindness, and humanity in his heart.

Mary's cheek was resting against the cool porcelain of the toilet, just below the seat; her eyes were closed and her mouth partially open. She was trying to draw breath while concurrently gulping down the vestiges of her digestive system, praying it was over. Her skin was waxen and pallid, while also shining with sweat; a cohort as friendly as the toilet itself these days.

"Mary…" he whispered, as he had on so many other occasions, but to the innocent bystander, his voice was acting as a trigger.

His partner threw up for the fourth time, ensuring there was nothing more within. Marshall was able to see as well as hear at this juncture, even from his spot on the doorframe. Her face was suspended into the bowl, lids closing once more, so she could take the place of Marshall and listen rather than watch. When the spell subsided, she arched back once more onto the ground, pausing only briefly to reach over her head and flush.

Marshall took this as a symbol that she anticipated the worst being over, and distaste of heroism be damned, he could not sit and observe her despair from a spectator view. His resentment had all-but evaporated in lieu of such a sad sight.

Stepping fully into their shared space, careful not to tread on Beatrix, he extended his hand.

"Come on. Come here…"

And it seemed the reality of her affliction had beaten Mary down as well. Opening her eyes to gaze upward at Marshall, she grasped his fingers and let him tow. While it was like a pulley system slowly reeling her upward, she had no room to complain.

And the fishing pole that was Marshall's hand didn't stop once it hooked the catch. It continued to spool, guiding her into his chest, locked in an embrace that had been a long time coming. Mary rested her weary head on Marshall's shoulder, his arms encompassing her against his long, lean form. The presence, the sensation of his gentle touch brought her back to earth; the epithets she'd been screaming all day no longer mattered.

Marshall was liberated when he heard the loud exhale from behind him.

"I'm sorry…" she groaned in defeat. "I'm sorry about what happened with Maureen and I'm sorry I've been such a nightmare…"

Marshall just nodded, knowing that this was all he'd needed to hear. He rubbed the knotted muscles in her ailing back, which elicited another sigh, this one of contentment.

"I know," he told her sweetly, circling his head to press a kiss to her temple. "It's okay."

Mary wanted to say that it was not okay, but she was too wrapped up in the refuge of his hug that she didn't make it there. This close, it was like going home.

"It's just…" this was suddenly easier when she didn't have to look right at him, poised over his shoulder. "If I lose these kids, I don't know what I'm gonna do…"

Again, Marshall heard the tremble in her tone, the indication that crying might follow, but she held it together by swallowing down the rest of her sentence. He remembered her request that he not sugarcoat the situation, nor dole out all the cold hard facts, and found that middle ground as fast as he could.

"I know…" he repeated himself, but then went on. "Every prospect is a lot to reconcile – a lot to take on."

Marshall felt her nod next to his temple and this convinced him he was saying the right thing.

"And, I may not be able to make it anything less than it is; I may not be able to halt the train when it decides to come down the tracks…" the train being the babies. "But, I'm here and I'm here to stay."

Another nod, "I'm glad you are."

Marshall found that was consoling to know, though he'd never disbelieved it. He was beginning to detect Mary weakening in his clutch; she'd held on hard and strong at first, but now she was dipping, allowing the fatigue to take her away. Her bones lost their rigidity, but the obsession was not erased.

"I just don't know if I can go through what I went through with Jamie. I can't do it again; I can't take that kind of blow. After my father, and then Jamie, and…"

She was rambling now, losing sight of the origin, but Marshall intertwined his thoughts with hers.

"You're tough; give yourself a little credit…"

He thought she heard, but she didn't latch on, "…I've never wanted anything like this in my whole life; I've never wanted anything _this_ badly…"

"I know…" this seemed to be working.

"It's so close I can taste it, but it's getting so much harder to climb…" metaphorically speaking, Marshall knew, but this spun very hastily into the literal. "And I'm just, I'm _so_ tired…"

For the third time, there was that hint of tears; the way Mary's tone quavered on the word 'so.' It said her exhaustion was beyond comprehension; beyond anything she could've expected. It was running her ragged.

"Of course you're tired," he acknowledged her claim brilliantly. "The third trimester is nothing to sneeze at, especially not with twins."

"I don't know why you're so patient with me…" she murmured somewhat apologetically, but then the earnestness turned right around, possibly to distract from those pesky, confined tears. "You need your head examined, doofus."

And this comment, Marshall knew, in the dim light of the chilly bathroom, wrapped in a forgiving embrace in front of the mirror, was the perfect segue into, 'I love you.' He smiled over Mary's back and squeezed one last time.

"That's my girl."

XXX

**A/N: I admit that the bit about the episiotomy may be stretching the truth a little, in terms of it being more common with bigger babies. From what I've read, that's not necessarily true, but oh well. ;)**

**Also, I don't know if anyone remembers from 'Empty Arms' that 'That's my girl' was Mary's and Marshall's code for 'I love you' for better or worse. Thanks for reviewing!**


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: Thank-you to those who are hanging with me! Like I said upfront, it is a lengthy story, so I'm expecting a lot by hoping people will see it through!**

XXX

Bright and early Friday morning, at nine o'clock on the dot, Mary found herself in the OBGYN's office as scheduled, Jinx by her side, Marshall already powering away at the Sunshine Building. Jinx was positively giddy that she'd managed to get herself invited to another doctor's appointment, but Mary was something less than elated. She'd managed to curtail the worst of her frostiness after coming to terms with Marshall, but still felt extremely on-edge. The predicament now was that she didn't feel she could lose her marbles a second time since she'd already melted down to her partner the night before. Keeping herself together was going to be quite the hoax for anyone in her vicinity.

The appointment was a downer before it even began. When Mary took the gown one of the nurses offered her to change into, she disappeared into the bathroom and caught a strictly ghastly vision of herself in the floor-to-ceiling mirror on the back of the door.

She hadn't looked at herself in a mirror – _truly_ looked at herself – in ages. Now she saw why. She was totally out-of-proportion, from the base of her ribcage down to the gallows of her belly. Her daughter's descent meant there was a big, bony knob across her lower half where she lay. The midsection of her tummy constituted an undefined lump, and a knot similar to the one where her daughter was protruding jutted out up top. She assumed this must be where her son was cushioned, but Mary was startled by how unsymmetrical she appeared without her clothes.

As if her peculiar shape was not enough, her stretch marks were unequivocally grotesque. Streaking top to bottom in ridges, they resembled blurred lines of longitude and latitude over her expanded skin. Her back, neck, and underside of her arms and legs were fat as could be, matching her belly pound for pound. How could Marshall – or anyone else for that matter – stand to look at her?

In spite of her appalling appearance, Mary swept the gown over her head, feeling as though she was submerging herself in a tent, and balled up her clothes, rejoining Jinx in the exam room.

Doctor Reese actually managed to get to the meeting only fashionably late, when Mary already had herself situated on the half-reclined bed, feet firmly in the stirrups. The casing pinched with her toes jammed so tightly, as they were already so swollen. She was able to bite her tongue on this one, knowing puffy toes were the least of her worries.

"Morning Mary!" the good doctor sang upon entering, stuffing her handy clipboard into a slot on the wall with her emergence. "How are you on this sunny Friday?"

Sunny was one word for it, Mary thought. The weather station had proclaimed before Marshall had left for the office that the Albuquerque atmosphere was working to hit over ninety degrees. Mary's overstretched pores were screaming in protest.

"Boiling," she responded in kind. "Like hot coals are rolling over that old epidermis of mine…"

Doctor Reese gave a gaping grin, "Epidermis. Marshall's medical jargon is having quite the effect on you."

Mary only grumbled, but Jinx giggled affectionately, standing from where she'd been seated beside the magazine rack. Her daughter wasn't sure why, as she wasn't going to be able to provide assistance standing or sitting, but was pretty sure she rose to be a show of support for Mary. Jinx confirmed this theory by inching closer to the bed.

"Miss Shannon," Doctor Reese inclined her head politely. "Good to see you again."

"You too," Jinx reciprocated. "Marshall's got his nose to the grindstone today so it's just us girls."

Mary could've lost her breakfast at these words; she even cringed. Why did Jinx have to make everything sound so sappy and sentimental? It was a routine ultrasound, not shopping for wedding dresses.

"Nice to hear," Doctor Reese donated anyway. After that, however, she got right down to the basics, "Well Mary…how have you been feeling? I know how tough it can get toward the close, and with you carrying two…"

Her interrogation lessened into nothingness as she pulled over a rolling stool and sat on it, using her feet to propel herself across the floor. She yanked a pair of gloves from atop the counter by the sink and snapped them on. The crackle of the covering always unnerved Mary; it was a conditioned response to uncomfortable, embarrassing diagnoses to come. If she hadn't known better, she would've thought she could actually feel her heart rate speed up inside her chest.

"I don't know…" she ultimately put forth, unsure how best to describe her prolonged tenderness. "How great could I really feel?"

Doctor Reese chuckled, "Fair question. But, nothing out of the ordinary going on? Fever, double-vision, bad headaches, dizziness?"

Mary knew these were only a few of the symptoms she was supposed to be on the lookout for, that Doctor Reese had given her the abridged version, but her notice was definitely caught at the mention of dizziness. She knew she could not keep that episode to herself if she wanted to know if it had affected the kids, but was afraid of what she might hear.

Unfortunately, she was distracted when her physician levered to a different matter temporarily.

"Let me check you real quick Mary, breathe deep…"

The patient worked to focus on something else, anything else as she closed her eyes and exhaled, long and low out her mouth. 'Checking' could be a death sentence in her book. Any sort of pain it caused didn't distress her any more, not when she had a great many other cramps to be concerned with. No, she'd been warned furtively at her appointment a week ago that she could start dilating at any time.

Dilating was to be avoided at all costs. Dilating was the starter gun going off. There was no turning back once she began to make the figurative paces forward. She longed to still be at zero; longed to be neither dilated nor effaced. She would take whatever pangs she could muster if it meant Frick and Frack kept baking.

It didn't take nearly as long as she would've thought for this to rattle through her brain. When she opened her eyes after taking a breath, Doctor Reese had barely begun.

"One more breath, Mary…"

This time, she had to swallow first, intent on not dwelling. Her scruples must've shown on her face though, because she felt Jinx put an arm around her, trying to soothe. Regrettably, this alerted her mother to the fact that her shoulders were trembling. Mary hadn't even known they were until Jinx commented.

"Honey, relax," she whispered, for which Mary was grateful; she didn't need to look like a nut in front of Doctor Reese. "It won't take long. Breathe, just like she said."

Jinx's intuition was a little shot – the length of time for inspection was not what bothered Mary. She nodded anyway, several times, to give Jinx the impression that she was holding her own.

"That's great," Doctor Reese sent up her approval, still fiddling beneath the gown. And then a discovery, "Ah…" A pause, and finally, "Baby A dropped."

Mary nodded again, welcoming this news, as it was validation nothing suspect had happened; both her and Marshall had been correct in assuming the location of their daughter.

"Mmm hmm…" she bobbed her head almost compulsively now, biting on her lip out of nerves. "That's not bad, is it?"

"No," Doctor Reese almost laughed, but refrained. "No, its fine…" her hand reappeared, meaning Mary could loosen her muscles slightly. "It's a good sign; you're progressing naturally. She's head-down though; you must be uncomfortable," a knowing grin.

"Kind of," Mary downplayed it, too anxious for the report of what else she'd revealed during her examination. "I thought it might mean I would deliver sooner."

"Sometimes, it does mean that," Doctor Reese confirmed. "But, you haven't started dilating, so it looks like she's still just getting into position."

Relief – warm, glorious, healing relief swept Mary like an ocean wave. It was cool and clear; she seemed to become ten pounds lighter. She was not dilating. She was free; free of mania at least for the afternoon that she would not be thrown into labor by nightfall. She couldn't wait to tell Marshall; couldn't wait to share that she'd regained enough control to eek out another week; she'd given the twins a whole seven days to keep growing. Now, for seven more.

Again, her release must've flickered across her face, because Jinx grinned at the way she sighed so loudly it seemed to create a breeze in the room. Her mother compressed her shoulder lightly to show her appreciation of this reaction.

"She was waiting to hear that," Jinx announced, and Mary almost grinned herself; they would look like quite the cheeky pair. "Will the boy start to descend soon, do you think?"

Mary cared very little now that she felt they were out of the woods, but Doctor Reese decided to answer anyway, "There's no way to tell. He may follow suit, but right now he seems pretty content where he is."

Mary had thought so too; he'd barely dislodged himself since making room for his sister down below. She couldn't help hoping he would stay curled against her ribs; they were sore, but nothing compared to the pressure her daughter was inflicting.

"Even if he did move, it is highly doubtful he would stay in a head-down position…"

"Why?" Mary cut in, purely inquisitive and nothing more.

"Well, in the event that it's safe enough for you to attempt natural childbirth, Baby B almost always turns once Baby A is born – I swear, they must sense the extra space and they run for it."

The doctor had tried to be funny with this account, but Mary was suddenly feeling apprehensive. Her euphoria over not being near to motherhood was quickly vanishing as she dissected all the prospects ahead. There seemed to be more and more every day. She didn't understand how she could birth a second baby that could revolve any which way once the first one surfaced.

"Don't…don't they have to be head-down to be delivered in one piece?" Mary proposed quietly, her voice sounding thin in the bright space.

"In one piece is a little dramatic, Mary," Doctor Reese asserted, and her casualness about the situation began to irk the one on the table. She was walking over to the ultrasound machine, preparing to hook up for the second part of the exam. "But, head-down is favorable…"

"How could you make sure?" Jinx challenged, though less forcefully than her daughter.

"We would monitor both babies throughout labor and delivery. Once Baby A is born, we would check the position of Baby B with a sonogram – verify his heartbeat, make sure he's stable – and see if he needs to be rotated."

Mary felt abruptly sick, as though all the color had drained from her face. How had they ended up here so quickly? One innocent observation about her little girl having dropped and all of a sudden she was being forced to envision the barbaric, medieval methods that might be used to compel her son into a secure spot. How on earth would that happen? Mary really didn't want to know.

Unfortunately, Doctor Reese had already kept on, "If he's head down, then he should deliver without a problem – barring other complications. If he's breech or butt-first then, depending on his vitals, we might go ahead and deliver him or revert to a C-section." And as if this wasn't enough, "If he's in any other position, we may have to reach inside your uterus to help him swing into a better spot more suited to delivery."

And now Mary was sure she was going to faint. She got as far as gaping, her mouth hanging slack like a hooked fish. _Reach into her uterus?_ What were these people playing at? She could not be serious. But, as Mary stared at Doctor Reese, assembling the ultrasound machine, she knew there was no game to be had here. The physician was perfectly blasé, as though it was absolutely natural to shove one's arm into her reproductive system and manipulate a human being.

Mary blinked, just trying to get some clarity, scarcely noticing Doctor Reese throw the standard blue blanket over her lower half so she could lift up her gown to administer the sonogram. She felt incredibly exposed, like there was a whole crowd of people pointing and mocking her sudden quandary. She grappled at some sort of precision, to bring herself back to earth.

When she turned her head, Jinx was standing there waiting. She looked grave and all-too-serious, but she had obviously spotted the shell-shock in Mary's eyes and began to finger her hair.

"Mom, would they really…?"

Mary's question filtered into oblivion. She didn't know why she thought Jinx would have any knowledge on the subject. She wasn't Marshall.

"Sweetheart, there's no guarantee that scenario would happen…" she jerked her head at Doctor Reese with a minimal roll of her eyes. "You may well just have a C-section by the time the babies are ready to be born."

Mary gulped. Wasn't it wrong to hope for a C-section? It was the coward's way out. But, as far as Mary was concerned, it was the deed that posed the least risk. That was the only thing she wanted. Pain was elementary.

"I…I can't…"

She couldn't what? Why was she even talking? She wasn't in a logical frame of mind; not trusted to speak.

She was mollified, however, when Jinx attempted a bright smile and kissed her cheek while she continued to stroke her hair.

"One day at a time, angel…" a whisper, so Doctor Reese wouldn't become privy. "Take it one day at a time." Raising her tone to normal volume, "Look – you'll be able to see the twins in just a minute."

Jinx clearly thought this would improve Mary's disposition, but the daughter was set on remaining jumpy until she remembered her conversation with Marshall the night before. While she had pleaded with him to just let her be cloaked in her own fear, she also construed that surprising him with buoyancy probably wasn't a bad thing. She could push all the birthing possibilities out of her mind for now; after all, the good news concerning her lack of dilation meant she wouldn't have to fuss over it for at least another day or so.

Therefore, she nodded at Jinx, feeling as though she had used this gesture a lot in just a few minutes, "Right. Yeah…"

She set her eyes on the picture in front of her, which was just starting to mold into focus. Doctor Reese had busied herself roving the wand back and forth on Mary's colossal stomach; for once, the gel was a welcome coolness in the suffocating heat.

"All right…" the woman slid the sonogram closer on its wheels so Mary could get a better look and wouldn't have to sit up too far. "There's not quite as much to see on this go around, just because your girl is so far into your pelvis…"

Mary buried the ill feeling that brushed her at hearing it described that way and shook her head, ready to concentrate.

"But, you can see part of her right down here…" Doctor Reese used her fingernail to outline the figure of Mary's daughter; indeed, the mass she was used to seemed cut in half toward the bottom of the screen. "And then your boy…"

She hit a button on the keyboard attached to the monitor to get a different view, and Baby B sprung onto the screen. Mary was somewhat reassured by seeing him so solidly present, after there was little visual evidence to account for her daughter. He also seemed more awake than the girl; the splotches of white were moving fast with his sketch in the center of the display. In moments, she could hear the steady, almost-celestial beating of his tiny heart.

"Mary, look at him!" Jinx crowed before Doctor Reese could give any sort of report. "He's rocking and rolling!"

"Tell me…" Mary muttered with a grin, now with some explanation for why she felt like there was a boxing match going on in her tummy. "It doesn't mean anything…that he's more active than she is, does it?" she inquired of the good doctor, thinking of the fact that Baby A seemed to be rather slothful in her little cocoon.

"No…" Doctor Reese shook her head. "I think she may be asleep at the moment, but she's perfectly healthy. Her heartbeat was nice and strong just like her brother's. It gets cramped in there for them; they stop moving because they don't have the room."

Mary was glad to hear this – at least part of it – but Jinx was too enraptured by the image of her grandson to listen to whatever was going on with her granddaughter.

"Such a darling…" a hand leapt to cover her mouth, like she was about to burst into tears. "Giving his sister all the space."

Mary chuckled sarcastically at hearing this, at seeing Jinx well-up over some indistinct blob in a sea of black. But, that was her mother; so excited to be grandmother she was willing to gush at the appearance of splotches that represented the babies.

"They do seem to be at opposite poles right now," Doctor Reese avowed. "But, I'm sure they'll keep breaking up as much as they can."

With this, she flicked off the print that had so engrossed Jinx and wound up her wand, Mary shoving her gown back over her belly now that they were finished. Now that she'd seen the kids, heard their little ventricles chugging away, she was feeling slightly better; she always did once she seized the proof she needed to function. Part of her renewed attitude likely came from the fact that she knew the appointment was almost over.

Jinx was still twittering gaily even after Doctor Reese had moved the ultrasound mechanism out of the way and retrieved her clipboard from the wall. Follow-up questions. That was it. They were nearly there. Cleared for another week.

"Now…" she stated, eyes scanning Mary's forms quizzically. They seemed to land on something specific, but she didn't elaborate, "We never got that question answered about unusual symptoms. Have you been having headaches or dizzy spells; anything like that?"

Mary had forgotten about that too, as she'd been so caught up in Jinx's curiosity about the various ways to deliver twins. The patient's brief bout with being near-faint seemed suddenly mundane. Surely it was no big deal.

"A couple nights ago I was a little dizzy…" Mary reported in an offhand sort of way. "With the heat, and everything, you know…"

Doctor Reese furrowed her brows, pen pausing on paper, not even bothering to write down what Mary had said. The look of perplexity made Mary uneasy, but she ignored it.

"Can you describe what happened?"

Mary nodded, trying to sound flippant, "I stood up and I kind of lost my balance for a second…" now she was scribbling with the other woman's speech. "Saw some spots, but it didn't last more than twenty seconds."

But, Doctor Reese was unconvinced, "You saw spots? You didn't actually pass out, did you?"

"No!" Mary unintentionally shouted, which encouraged Jinx to caress her arm softly, trying to talk her daughter off the ledge. But, she was annoyed that she was being tinted in this light – this person who wouldn't blink if she'd fainted while pregnant. "No, I didn't pass out. It was a thousand degrees outside and I hadn't eaten dinner – I put my feet up, I ate, end of story."

She gave Doctor Reese the best incredulous stare she possessed, but it didn't seem to be achieving much. The one in the lab coat sighed and pocketed her pen, flipping the forms back to the front. Mary sensed a speech coming on – a speech she did not want to be subjected to. She'd already had her success at staying pregnant for thirty-three weeks diminished by that whole nonsense about rotating babies. What now?

Her patience thinned in a hurry when Doctor Reese didn't say anything, "What?!"

Jinx almost spoke over her, "Is something wrong?"

How the blonde wished she hadn't used that word. Nothing could be wrong. Nothing. She'd surpassed the hurdle she'd been galloping toward. There could not be anything else.

"Mary, the dizzy spell concerns me because of a stat that came up in your pre-exam," Doctor Reese began, very efficiently, all of a sudden lacking the emotion she typically displayed. There was a monotonous, unbiased quality now. "You're healthy, and so are the babies. But, your blood pressure has taken a spike since I saw you last week."

Mary gulped, tasting her breakfast of cereal in her throat, the milk suddenly sour. She willed herself not to make more of this than it was until she knew everything.

"You are actually not in the danger zone in terms of your blood pressure – when that happens, you're at risk for preeclampsia and we put you on bed rest…"

Yikes.

"But, the way it has really shot up tells me it is likely going to continue to rise."

Staring into her impassive, expressionless features, Mary felt numb with trepidation. She needed Marshall. She needed Marshall and his endless wealth of information. He'd explained preeclampsia to her before, but she couldn't remember what it was right now. All she knew was that she didn't want to develop it, and escalating blood pressure put her much closer to doing so.

"So…so…what?" Mary finally stammered tentatively. "What do we do?"

Doctor Reese readjusted her papers, "I'm not going to put you on mandated bed rest yet. If you extend to at least thirty seven weeks, four weeks is an awful long time to be in bed."

No shit, Mary thought, especially with the way her back pulsated.

"In any case, bed rest only helps to curb your chances of skyrocketing blood pressure; nothing eliminates it except to deliver the baby – or babies."

And Mary scented the hazard. She could spot it as though it were an out of control motorist careening down a steep hill. You could run, you could dart and dive, but in the end you'd never be fast enough to bolt out of the way. The crash was coming no matter how ardently you tried to avoid it.

It didn't matter if she hadn't dilated. Her achievement was nothing; if her blood pressure went through the roof, the kids would come early anyway. For her safety as much as theirs.

"So, if I don't have to stay in bed, what do I do?" Mary wondered aloud, her throat feeling cottony and papery, like there was something lodged within.

"My suggestion…" Doctor Reese put forth, and there was a definite gap where she tried to assess Mary's reaction to whatever it was. "Is to schedule an amniocentesis. If, by next week, your blood pressure has ascended as much as it did last week, we're going to need to know how viable the babies are going to be if they have to delivered."

"Viable?" Mary uttered in a wheeze, the hysteria of which was not missed by either the doctor or her mother.

"Honey, just listen…"

"At this point, viability pretty much refers to their lungs," Doctor Reese blundered on. "Their weights are fairly solid for being twins and only thirty-three weeks – right now, they've both eclipsed three pounds. But, without an amniocentesis, we won't be able to tell how mature their lungs are – something it would be helpful to know if you deliver in the next week and a half."

A thousand questions whirled in Mary's already jammed brain. Like preeclampsia, she was sure Marshall had schooled her on the amniocentesis, but none of what she remembered was heartening. Something that carried minimal risks for one baby was doubled for twins – and for twins nearing the end of gestation?

A drawing in one of her many pregnancy books forced its way to the forefront of her mind. She saw a long needle, at least eight centimeters, being drawn into a woman's abdomen. She suppressed a shaking quiver at just how many organs or children that needle could poke and rupture in an already confined space.

Even though Mary felt as though she was no longer present, Doctor Reese was still talking.

"Mary, you retain the option to say no to this," she must've picked up on how vacant her charge was. "But, know that it would be my recommendation. There are always risks with this procedure, but the risk when you have an amnio performed early in the pregnancy is that you'll miscarry…"

Mary almost had a stroke. Miscarry? Not like Jamie. This was not going to be like Jamie. Marshall had promised.

"You are far past that point, being in your third trimester. The risk now is that having the amnio could throw you into premature labor."

Holy mother of God. She was so-so screwed. And no matter how Doctor Reese tried to gloss it over, there was no hiding it. She was ruined – left, right, and center.

"I'm optimistic about the babies' ability to stay in utero, even with an amniocentesis, though. They are so far apart in there…" she gestured at the now-blank sonogram. "That we could, feasibly, only test one baby for lung maturity. If one isn't ready, there's no benefit to checking the other."

With this, it seemed she was finally finished, but Mary could barely breathe. Babies coming down the birth canal the wrong way. Babies put under stress because of her blood pressure. Babies with lungs that didn't work right. Babies poked and prodded, shifted and tucked, and no matter the relaxation, the bed rest, or precaution, there was no stopping them when they were ready to hit new soil.

Mary had no idea what to do. She had that same feeling of rawness she'd had at the onset of the appointment. Was she supposed to decide right now?

Fortunately, Jinx came to her rescue.

"Would she be able to have some time to think about this?" the brunette requested kindly. "Maybe talk to Marshall and see how he feels?"

Doctor Reese bobbed her head obligingly, "Absolutely. Give us a call later today, Mary," not _much_ time, it appeared. "It's a lot to coordinate, but rest assured that we'll take good care of you regardless of what happens. Just take it easy, try to cut back on work if you're able…" impossible, not with Tripp's calamity. "Speak to Marshall and let us know what you'd like to do."

Mary found herself nodding for what seemed like the hundredth time, but the mention of Marshall's name a second time nearly sent her into a frenzy. It was all she could do not to fall completely apart, to beg someone – anyone – to keep her kids in the hub where they belonged, where they were in good hands, if only metaphorically speaking.

Marshall. She needed Marshall. For, despite the way she'd reamed him out for glazing reality over with pretty ponies and daydreams, right now she yearned for one thing. His gentle, perpetual peace to tell her, true or not, that it was going to be okay.

XXX

**A/N: Just as an FYI on all the pregnancy stuff: I'm no expert, but I do try my best to be accurate when I can. There are always times I'm going to be wrong, or even times I intentionally stretch the truth (hopefully believably,) just for the sake of the story. Hopefully, whatever is incorrect or minimally falsified doesn't distract from anything. And, who knows? Maybe I'll be right about a few things once in awhile! ;)**


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: I hope all of my American readers/reviews have a wonderful holiday weekend.**

XXX

Mary didn't have any inkling of how she got through the remainder of her doctor's appointment without coming unglued. She did a lot of nodding and said, 'Mmm hmm' about six hundred times, hoping frantically that all these motions would speed up Doctor Reese and her bundle of baby gossip. Jinx watched her covertly the entire time, her enormous jade eyes whizzing all over in her milky face.

By the time the two of them got to the car, however, the brunette seemed to have come to the resolution of pretending Mary's misfortune hadn't happened. Through her fog, Mary didn't really blame Jinx. In all their years being mother and daughter, Mary rarely expressed the slightest desire to swap stories and lick wounds together. She was driven by past experience.

"Let's get this air going…" Jinx chirped blithely as they clambered into the car and she inserted her key into the slot beside the wheel. "It is beastly hot this morning; I don't even want to think about what it'll feel like by noon."

Mary was hunched against the window, her cheek resting on the semi-cool glass on the inside of the pane. She felt her skin plaster to the sheet from perspiration on her face, but made no effort to move. She knew she was not going to be able to keep it together. She felt so ensnared in her own, quickly deteriorating body that it seemed incredible she hadn't just crumpled to her knees from built-up stress.

Jinx persisted in being oblivious, "That one opens a little wider, you just have to roll the dial…" she reached across her child and opened the vent on the passenger side.

Evidently, even Jinx could not pretend to disregard Mary's crunched stance, as if she had any hope of hiding herself, given her bulk. She halted mid-adjustment, her arm still airborne.

"Is that cold enough, sweetheart?" she was would-be-informal, but her voice had gone distinctly flat.

Mary nodded and swallowed, wondering when her mother was going to budge, thinking that perhaps if she spoke, this would convince the other woman she was perfectly well. Then maybe, she could save face until she got home, which would prepare her for being more collected by the time she saw Marshall.

"It feels fine…"

Her little plan did not work. In fact, it failed spectacularly. The minute Mary opened her mouth, her phrase came out in a croak, the words quivered as though they might topple to the ground, and by then she was done for. The tears flowed; dribbles at first, little rivulets that dampened her cheeks, already hot from embarrassment and ninety-degree-weather. She felt the moisture as though it came from another's eyes, as though she was watching herself break down from afar; it seemed surreal. She was so sedated to everything that might occur.

Mary couldn't remember the last time she'd cried – probably when her and Marshall had found out they were having twins, but those had been tears of joy and astonishment. Nonetheless, she was crying now, and rather messily to boot; her chest heaved and her shoulders wracked; she emitted those God awful gasps reserved for someone like Brandi.

Jinx was in her element at once, "Mary, honey…" there was a click as she unbuckled the seatbelt she'd already fastened and she scooted further to the right in her seat. Her timbre was etched with a maternal compassion and warmth Mary received from no other, "Honey-honey…" she repeated herself, trying to put an arm around her. "Don't cry…"

Mary accepted her mother's touch and leaned her head onto Jinx's shoulder, the closest portion of her she could reach with the armrest between them. Jinx took it for what it was and patted her hair, much as she'd done in the exam room.

"Angel, it'll be all right; you just have to give it some time to sink in…"

Mary was well aware these words were superficial; they were as shallow as Marshall's faint declarations that it would all work out in the end. But, at the moment, she was too wrapped up in finally allowing herself to let go of her tension to care. Humiliated she might be, but there was something therapeutic about granting herself permission to cry.

"I swear, every day there's something new that might be wrong with them…" the blonde blubbered ungracefully and, at this proclamation, Jinx pulled away from their awkward embrace.

"I know; it's so taxing for you…" she murmured sympathetically. She brought her index finger to Mary's leaking eyelids and started to brush the tears away; tenderly, lovingly. "But, don't cry sweetheart…" she entreated her once again. "Come on, Marshall would poach my head and have it on a stick in the front yard if he knew I'd let you cry…"

Without any warning whatsoever, Mary laughed; she shocked herself by being able to, and while it came out very shaky and waterlogged, it was genuine. The image her mother had produced was too absurd, and she couldn't imagine where she'd come up with it.

"What?" Mary marveled, shaking her head and trying to get a handle on what Jinx meant, who had giggled as well.

"He just hates to think of you being upset at all…" she clarified, still tittering, leaning her elbow on the armrest to look at her daughter properly. "He'd come after me if he knew I'd caused it."

Mary wagged her head again, permitting the wetness to dry slightly, "You didn't cause it, mom," where she'd gotten that idea, the younger would never know.

But, it seemed Jinx's statement about fault had a different purpose than to place blame on herself. She cast Mary a melancholy sort of smile and tilted her temple onto the headrest, peering at her through merciful eyes.

"You didn't cause it either," she declared in a hushed voice. "So, I hope you won't go there."

Mary was too far gone to turn back, "But, Marshall's been harassing me every second to loosen up, to take a break whenever I need it, to not work so hard…" she swigged past more tears threatening to spill over, surprised by how constricted her throat felt; how her eyes burned. "If I'd listened to him, maybe my blood pressure wouldn't have gone up; maybe I wouldn't need the amnio…"

But, Jinx was ready for this opinion and hurried to shut her down, "Maybe sweetheart, but not likely," she supposed with a kind of grimace. "You being pregnant with twins already gave you a better chance of having high blood pressure, I would guess. And, you're high-risk anyway because you're over thirty-five," way over, Mary remembered with shame. "It's one of those things that usually happens whether you're extra-cautious or not. It happened to me when I was pregnant with Brandi."

Mary hadn't projected hearing that, "It did? Well, did you have to have an amnio?" any sort of story she could get on the subject was valuable.

"No…" now Jinx was the one to shake her head. "I was much further along than you; the doctors felt more confident estimating that Brandi's lungs would be mature, I'm sure, although they didn't really go into detail," she confessed. "But, she was fine – born about two weeks early."

Mary's eyes went downcast, "Two weeks is nothing with one baby," she didn't want to demean her mother's tale, but it was hardly the same. "The kids can't get much bigger in the next seven weeks; you heard Doctor Reese, they just don't have the room. And, if they can't get bigger, their lungs won't work right either…"

She was getting all worked up again, tears fresh and new on her sticky cheeks. Jinx opted to stay where she was this time and pat her daughter's shoulder affectionately, but still attempted to stem the flow as best she could.

"Mary, darling…" she never let go of the terms of endearment, even as she massaged the shoulder blade and the taller's dampness trickled down onto her plus-sized shirt. "Try to calm down. Marshall will know more about the amnio, he'll give you a better idea of how precarious it might be for the babies…" an assumption. "Better than that woman anyway," topping it off with an eye roll toward the building they'd just left, indicating Doctor Reese.

Mary gave something close to a watery smile at her mother's disdain for the physician. She knew Jinx didn't care for her because she always seemed to cause Mary grief, but the pregnant one was aware she was just doing her job.

Mention of Marshall took Mary back to the warnings of impending bed rest. Although Doctor Reese had all-but guaranteed her it wasn't necessary yet, she couldn't help feeling rather reckless trotting off to the Sunshine Building after all the information she'd just garnered.

"Maybe I shouldn't be working anymore…" she blurted out without thinking, a thought that brought on a third tirade of tears; being a Marshal was so essential to her happiness. She hated to give it up this early, although she constantly reminded herself that the welfare of Frick and Frack came first. "Maybe it's not a good idea…" this possibility came out hoarse from all her crying.

Fortunately, Jinx could see how gloomy this made her and tried to come still closer, but was blocked by the support beam in the middle once again. She waved this away and looked closely into Mary's sleepy eyes, fixing her with an unblinking stare.

"Angel, if you wanted to stop now, you know Marshall and Stan would be behind you…" she began. "But, you heard what she said; you don't have to worry just yet…" fat chance of that. "If she thought your blood pressure was enough to keep you from your job, she would've made it clearer."

Mary was not sure this was true, not when Doctor Reese had emphasized that cutting back at work could be crucial, especially down the road. But, she didn't see how she could just drop out, not with Tripp's case going on. He was relying on her to keep his mother in check and she cared too much about him to be a disappointment that way.

Perhaps in an attempt to make Jinx understand why staying home was so hard, she gave the abbreviated, vague version of why she felt the need to stick it out.

"I just…" she shrugged and sniffled, hoping to keep her nose from running down her face. "I'm really…" she was an expert at beating around the bush when it came to WITSEC; now should be no different. "I have a…a friend…"

A friend? Would Jinx buy that?

"…A friend at work that really needs my help; I don't want to let him down, is all…"

To her respite, Jinx took the explanation at face value, "Of course you don't," even without any clue to what Mary was talking about; she had faith in her decency to see something through to the end. "You'll do what you can. When you have to bow out, if this is a real friend, I'm sure they'll understand."

Tripp probably would comprehend the tight spot she was in – after all, he'd gotten a look at her; he had to know she'd take leave eventually. But, one of the reasons she liked Tripp was because he never treated her any differently because she was pregnant. Aside from the preliminary, 'Hey, congrats,' he hadn't mentioned it again. She was not the proverbial elephant in the room when she was with him. She was the badass Marshal she'd been when they'd first met; she had no aspirations of losing that title.

When Mary went blank as she contemplated all this, Jinx strove forward in an attempt to sunny things up.

"Don't get into a knot yet, sweetie," she advised soothingly, pleased to see that Mary appeared to be listening by the way they locked eyes. "Everything is okay right now; you just have to be patient," not exactly the younger's strong suit. "And, you never know! If you have the amnio and they find out the babies' lungs have developed, they could be born at any time and be just fine!"

Mary thought this was so far past 'best case scenario' that she couldn't wrap her brain around it. That would be far too ideal; she couldn't count on it, not when she was still seven weeks from full term, and four weeks from predicted viability. The likelihood of the twins being good to go at thirty-three weeks was next to nothing.

"I don't know, mom…" was all she could think of to communicate her doubts. "But, I'm sorry…" she swiped under her eyes to rid them of residue, feeling the puffiness that had persisted since yesterday. "I didn't mean to lose it like that," very quick to save face. "You're right, Marshall would be pissed."

Jinx chortled as her daughter pulled herself into one piece, rearranging her shirt and smoothing her hair, trying to look presentable.

"Not _pissed_," the brunette insisted with a smirk. "He'd just be concerned, that's all. Would you like me to talk to him about all the options? Spare you the trouble?"

Mary's instinct was to say no, even as she watched Jinx turn around in her seat, ready for the drive now that they'd had their heart-to-heart. She didn't need her scurrying mother putting out fires all over the place. It reminded her too much of when she'd miscarried and subsequently lost Jamie; Marshall had been the one to confide in Jinx, and Jinx had in turn divulged the circumstances Brandi, with horrible ramifications.

But, the more she thought about it, the more she realized it might be beneficial to have Jinx lay out the facts for her partner. She'd be more level-headed about the whole thing, and Mary would simply have to conduct the fall-out; assist the man in deciding whether the amniocentesis was a good choice or not. And that was why, as Jinx looked over her shoulder to back out of her parking space, she verbally accepted the offer.

"That'd be nice, mom," she said quietly, thinking the cooperative attitude was a far cry from the tornado she'd been the day before. "Thanks."

A lipstick-red grin met the acceptance, "Of course, dear."

"Only…" Mary had to place stipulations; had to have a say somehow. "Don't…tell him about this…" she gestured indistinctly in the space between them, silently demonstrating her little outburst. "Really. He's been making himself crazy over me as it is."

Jinx groaned and made a disapproving sort of tutting noise in her throat, but Mary could tell by her pasted-on smile that she had consented; she would keep their interaction in the vault. She even changed the topic without broaching the subject of Marshall's knowledge on Mary's rapid-fire hormones.

"Why don't we go to lunch?" she recommended, navigating her way out of the parking lot while Mary worked to stretch her seatbelt to the breaking point so it would fit in the holster. "And, you can't lie to me young lady…" turning on her maddeningly superior voice. "Marshall told me yesterday that you didn't need to be back at work until noon. So, where do you want to go?"

That seemed like a lot of questions wrapped up in one whole demand, but Mary saw only one problem with this arrangement.

"It's only ten thirty," she said with a glance toward the clock above the radio. "I know you're getting up there mom, but if you start eating at ten thirty in the morning, you'll be having dinner by four – and that's senior citizen status."

Jinx gave a chiming scoff at her child's little tease, "Look who's back to acting all high and mighty," laced with fondness. "I wanted to pick up some paint samples to look at for the nursery," she explained. "By the time we do that, we'll have about an hour to eat before the afternoon. I have a class at twelve thirty anyway," bringing up her ballet students.

Mary stiffened automatically at the mention of the twins' living quarters; she'd been going round and round on the subject for weeks, as pointed out by Brandi when she'd called the day before. It seemed Jinx was undeterred, however; hell bent on finding something her daughter could live with. Since the decorator wasn't complaining about her lack-of-selection, Mary opted to go with the flow.

"Okay…" she replied shortly. "I'll call Marshall and let him know what's going on," she was already fishing her phone out of her tote on the floor of the car, which was far from easy with the peak in the way.

When she emerged, Jinx was looking rather quizzical, probably because she'd just offered to clear the specifics with Marshall on the doctor's appointment, but she didn't vocalize her confusion. Mary just shrugged and hit the number one speed dial on her cell to reach the man.

"I'll keep it vague," she claimed hastily; even if she'd be the one to spill the beans, she didn't want to do it over the phone.

It only took two rings before Marshall answered, which left Mary momentarily lost, as she hadn't quite calculated what to say, whatever she told Jinx. His tone was purposefully upbeat; he'd developed a different reaction than she had after their rap session in the bathroom. He seemed to feel they'd broken new ground and that the walls could come down. For Mary, it was a simple sign she was going to have to keep cool since she'd already filled her whining quota for the week.

"Hey!" Marshall greeted her brightly. "You done already? Don't tell me the doctor's office was actually running on time."

Mary choked out a laugh, feeling self-conscious because Jinx was watching her fake her glee.

"Yeah, mark today on your calendar," she quipped. "Jinx and I are just gonna stop by the hardware store and then have lunch. Unless you need me back before then?"

"No-no…" he insisted a little too quickly, almost to the point where it made Mary suspicious. "That's perfect. You'll be here about twelve then?" he tried to verify.

"Yeah, something like that."

Mary knew she wasn't going to get away so swiftly. She could apply some resilience in shutting him down before the cross-examination began, but in the end, Marshall would wiggle his way to the inside. The trick was giving enough information to satisfy him, but conveniently leaving out the nitty gritty details until later.

"So…" he went on smoothly, almost sensually. "How did things shake out? How did Frick and Frack hold up this week?"

At least Mary could start with the truth, "They're good – little over three pounds, Doctor Reese said."

"Excellent-excellent…" Marshall declared enthusiastically. "Right on schedule. Everything else going swimmingly? What about you? Healthy kids need a healthy mama to keep 'em plugging along."

Mary paused, blinking slowly, for a split second thinking maybe she could just tell him. She was more composed than she'd been minutes prior; maybe she was getting used to the idea already. Marshall would be compassionate; she'd earn herself all sorts of practical _and_ useless facts related to preeclampsia and the amniocentesis.

But, when she swallowed and tried to get the words out, they wouldn't come. What surfaced instead was that same scratchy feeling in her throat; the stinging in her eyes. She knew Jinx was right in that Marshall would be devastated if he heard her crying. The thought of attempting to wend her way through the particulars of all her issues was too much to bear.

"I'm…I'm fine too," she lied effortlessly, gaining a stern glimpse from her mother, which she tried to ignore. "Nothing…nothing unexpected."

This was not a complete fib, but her voice broke anyway; she stammered and stuttered on every syllable. He was sure to guess she was not being honest.

"Really?" he inquired curiously. "Everything's where it's supposed to be? Nothing to keep an eye out for?"

"Just…just the usual things…" Mary granted him that. "You know, it's all downhill from here, right?" another warbling laugh escaped, one that sounded more like a hiccup or a squeak than Mary's normal, scornful chuckle.

"Nothing like being the hypothetical nucleus, huh? The heart, the center, the portal of all activity…"

"Marshall, seriously," Mary interrupted, feeling strangely prickly because he sounded so ordinary and she knew she was hiding the legitimate aspects of the meeting from him. "It is what it is, you know?"

There was a discrete pause, one where she could only hear Marshall breathing, and she knew instantly she'd elbowed him away too quickly. She'd tried to close the discussion down before it had begun, and he was too intuitive not to notice. Between her partner's inhales and exhales, plus the steady stream of air coming from the vent in front of her, Mary's mind spun ferociously trying to figure out how to cover up next.

"Did she give you any counsel on when to expect authorized bed rest?"

Oh no. He was close. He was in the neighborhood, practically knocking on the front door. A few twists and turns and he'd be right there. She really hadn't wanted to do this right now. She'd wanted to forget. For the first time in her life, she just wanted to go out with her mother and feel the weightlessness she'd experienced for half a second when she'd learned there was no indication the twins were beginning their plunge.

Inspiration came to her, "Um…maybe in another couple weeks?" at least with this account; Jinx couldn't glean what she was referring to. "She…Doctor Reese isn't sure," that could come later. "But, I actually haven't started dilating even though Baby A dropped."

Jackpot. This had the reaction she was hoping for.

"Oh my…" Mary even thought she heard his chair creak and she could picture him sitting behind his desk at the Sunshine Building. "Nothing? Not even a centimeter?" Marshall's tone was almost shaking with suppressed delight.

"Nope, nothing," she confirmed, exerting an effort to ratchet some enthusiasm of her own. "So, that's good, huh?"

"That's great!" Marshall burst, knowing how manic Mary had been over such a process starting anywhere prior to thirty-seven weeks gestation. "It's fantastic! Aren't you excited?"

Evidently, her false zest hadn't fooled him. It hadn't gotten past Jinx either, whose eyes were narrowing into slits from behind the steering wheel. Why had she made the bid to give Marshall the niceties if she was going to frown when Mary went into her deceitful mode?

"Yeah…yeah…" she was unconvincingly adamant. "Yeah, of course I am…" her babbling was going to give her away.

"Are you sure?" Marshall pressed skillfully, wasting no time. "You sound funny. Maybe our connection is bad…"

The woman knew he said that to salvage some of her pride, but she knew him too well to be kidded by some throwaway line about static. She sounded strange because her nose was stuffed up; he could hear the clogging quality to her voice.

But, Mary was going to play until the end now that she'd commenced, "Yeah…no, we can talk some more later," she refused to be specific. "But, I'm okay, I promise. The kids are great."

A smaller hiatus proceeded these words, but he backpedaled just for her, "We'll really talk later?"

Or he and Jinx would.

"Yeah," Mary stated for about the sixth time. "I'll see you around noon."

"If…if you want, I can ask Stan, see if I can get the afternoon off; we could maybe check on Tripp…"

This was a tactic used so Mary could unwind, wrapped in a pretty bow by throwing a witness in for good measure. Fortunately, she was wise to his methods and shook her head, whether he could see her or not.

"I'll let you know," she was noncommittal. And then, "I'm good, Marshall. I just wish you'd been with me."

And while her intent was hardly to impose repentance on this man she loved more than life itself, she felt the compulsion to bestow him with at least one honest remark amid a shower of tall tales.

XXX

**A/N: Hopefully it was good for Mary to release some of her stress and cry a little, even if she won't with Marshall. Thanks for keeping up with me! XOXO**


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N: Happy Fourth of July to my American readers/reviewers. This is a longer, but lighter chapter – hopefully nice for the holiday for those who are able to come in and give it a peek. :)**

XXX

Mary enjoyed an only semi-leisurely lunch with Jinx, and had to keep herself from inhaling too strongly when they headed to the hardware store to pick up paint samples. The fumes made her feel nauseous, and she wondered in the rear of her mind – no longer the spacious crevice it had once been – what she was going to do when they finally got around to striping the nursery. Marshall would have a complete fit if something happened to the twins because of something as avoidable as paint fumes.

She was looking forward to a somewhat quiet afternoon at the Sunshine Building, marred only by knowing she had to phone Tripp to see if he'd heard anything significant from Maureen. She couldn't envisage a world where his mother hadn't ripped him a new one already, but there'd been crickets from his end. Mary knew it was too unlikely to think Maureen had come to her senses, buckled down, and prepared to battle in court.

If nothing else, she was boosted riding up in the elevator after leaving Jinx at the bus stop in knowing her own mother had already confided the pending amniocentesis in Marshall. When Mary had escaped to the bathroom during lunch, Jinx had placed the call and gotten everything squared away. The blonde felt like quite the sissy, not able to choke out the details on her own, but it was taken care of now. She just hoped Marshall would wait for a hushed moment before hounding her with reassurances.

Quiet, or anything close to it, was not what Mary received when she reached the top floor, however. Squinting at the glass double doors that would grant her admittance, she saw what looked like a folding table in the middle of the floor, piled with several sacks and a mound of something. The mass in question appeared to be an off-white color, some kind of red piping running around the edges. Until she saw Stan, Delia, and Marshall gathered around the stand, she was willing to believe the table had been erected as a dumping ground for delivered supplies.

Approaching cautiously, she swiped her badge and, at the sound of the click, both co-workers plus her significant other looked up in anticipation.

"What…?"

A muddled noise came out her mouth as she looked, puzzled, from one face to another. Realization sped to the vanguard of her mind as she ascertained that the sacks were gift bags. The bundle she'd thought was a packing box of office materials turned out to be a cake – white frosting, crimson stripes.

"What…what's…?"

Mary remained rooted to the spot, but articulating her bewilderment a second time sent Stan into a flurry; Marshall dashed forward to greet her, like she needed help being yanked into the club.

"Crap! It's twelve already…?" Stan checked his watch hectically, and then he seized one of the sacks and waved it, like some poorly-controlled mannequin in their little display.

"Hey! You're early!" Marshall piped up, scooting to a halt between the desks.

"By like, ten minutes…" Mary stated blankly, somehow unable to compute what was going on; it was obvious and yet all the sights and sounds seemed to be traveling in one ear and out the other. "What…what is this?"

Her tote was growing heavier on her shoulder, and the more disorganized her crew looked, the more agitated she became. She didn't know why; it was clear this makeshift version of a baby shower was just the sort of minimized edition of a real party she'd endorse. She'd nixed every shower bid hurled at her, unable to stomach the thought of pastels and dopey carnival games while people like Delia and Brandi ran their hands over her belly.

Obviously, the WITSEC gang had put together a lesser alternative; one Mary could probably appreciate if she hadn't been so thrown.

"Stan and Delia just had a few things they wanted to give you…" Marshall finally introduced with a wave of his hand, still not coming any closer. "And we thought we'd mark the occasion with some cake. I told them how you can still keep your cake down," he gave a gentlemanly wink.

"So, surprise!" Delia boasted with a shriek, bouncing up on the spot and blowing – dear God – a noisemaker. "I made muffins too if you're feeling up to that, but if not you can always take them home!"

Stan gave a sheepish smile at the woman's spirit and lowered his sack, "Hope you don't mind, inspector," shrugging at Mary. "We just thought it'd be nice – always good to take a break from the routine."

It was painfully evident they all thought she'd blast off at the mere idea of a baby shower, let alone one in full swing. Given her thrashing around from yesterday, it was understandable, but Mary was just having a hard time solidifying the scene in front of her. Her mind was back at her doctor's appointment, with occasional interferences from Tripp. The unexpected merriment was slightly overwhelming.

Somehow, she looked to Marshall for help and he was smiling softly, considerately, nudging her forward without saying a word. The man knew this wasn't really her thing, but a courteous nod could go a long way toward making it pleasant for everyone. His partner thought she could detect a hint of commiseration in his beautiful, vibrant eyes. After talking with Jinx, he knew everything, and could only expect so much jollity from his girl.

But, Mary worked something close to a sincere smile on her face and bobbed her head, "No, this is…great," she needed another adjective to use, but couldn't come up with one. She skipped ahead to sarcasm instead, "You guys are just the worst surprisers in the world, is all," she shook her head condescendingly. "Still setting up when I walk through the door."

At the sound of contempt, Marshall concluded his path free and clear and leapt the rest of the way to say hello, looking very much like an overgrown little boy at a birthday party.

"It's not our fault you showed up before Marshall said you were going to!" Stan griped from his spot, and Delia picked it right up.

"We'll just have to get the festivities under way early!"

As they chattered, Marshall used the minute he had to spare while they weren't watching to sling an arm around Mary's back. Pecking her cheek, he gave her shoulder a rough squeeze, losing his jaunty persona for a second.

"Hey…" still brilliantly smiling, though not overdone.

"Hi…" she intoned as indifferently as possible.

"I'm sorry about this; if you don't like it…"

"Really, it's fine…"

He blew right past that now that Mary had given her approval, "I spoke to Jinx…"

"I know…"

Marshall acted as though he hadn't heard, "Are you all right? I feel just awful that I wasn't with you, but we'll figure out what to do…"

He certainly was rapid in his desire to make up for whatever gaffe he might have made, but in this case there wasn't one. Mary just shook her head, and although she was comforted by having him pressed so tightly against her, even as they walked side-by-side toward their colleagues, she knew now wasn't the moment to agonize. She'd wanted to be able to overlook everything from blood pressure to premature labor and here was her chance.

"I know we will," she blinked up at the man, so earnest in his quest to fix everything that went wrong. "But, let's do it later." A small smirk and then, "Looks like I've got gifts to open."

Marshall grinned back, not entirely converted to her cavalier demeanor, but he knew as well as she did that putting everything to bed for now was best.

"Muffins on top of cake is a lot going through your system, but they are my specialty; I wanted to make sure I had some all ready – I know Mary loves the cappuccino ones!" Delia was still prattling even when the mentioned put herself back in the conversation, talking the ear off of a rather red-faced Stan.

"You guys didn't have to get me – us – anything," she pealed delicately into their midst, making sure to mark Marshall as well as herself; any infant gifts were as much for her as they were for him. "Seriously, Jinx and Brandi are going to put every department store around here out of business buying junk for these kids."

"Ah, but something tells me they won't have Delia's muffins," Stan pointed a finger, looking slightly impish about how much she'd been blathering about the food. "I think you'll have a lifetime supply when she's done baking."

"A lifetime supply of anything sounds pretty good," Marshall concluded, leaving his arm resting on Mary's backside even after they stopped in front of the table. Up close, Mary noticed it was actually the old desk from the janitor's closet. "Anybody want to chip in for an endless quantity of diapers? I'd be happy to get the ball rolling on that one."

"I don't think that is in my department," Stan held up his hands in defeat, but immediately replaced one to Mary's forearm, so that she had both men touching her at once.

She was somewhat bemused, because Stan was normally as alien at instigating contact as she was. But, he seemed determined to do his part today. She had a shrewd hunch that Marshall might have given up the ghost and told their boss a portion of what Mary had experienced during the doctor's appointment. Both Stan's and Delia's apparent lack-of-interest in her well-being was more than coincidental. Marshall had clearly told them not to bring it up.

"Who got the cake?" Mary fished for more, trying fairly hopelessly to get her thoughts away from her health. "What kind is it?"

"I picked it up from the bakery this morning," Stan explained. "It's red velvet on the inside."

Even with all the odd fiddling on her shirt, Mary had to smile; one of her more authentic ones because she had to fight being rather touched.

"Red velvet's my favorite," she whispered to Stan over Delia pouring drinks into Styrofoam cups. "It was your idea?"

"Well, with a little help from your boy…" he nodded benevolently. "I needed the reminder."

This was good enough for Mary, "Thanks."

This time, Stan compressed her elbow lightly, topping it off with a few gentle pats to show his soft spot for her, "No problem, kiddo."

After the way she'd behaved the day before with Maureen, Mary did find it rather bizarre that everyone was now treating her like the eighth wonder of the world. This as much as confirmed her theory that Marshall had told everyone she was about to have an eight centimeter needle stuck into her immense stomach, should the pair of them come that decision.

Even so, Mary would accept a little pity if it meant pieces of red velvet cake. She looked to her man and fed him her best stare of exasperation.

"That cake won't slice itself, doofus…" she poked him in the chest, forcing him to withdraw his arm. "Hop to it before Frick and Frack do their revamp bit on my guts."

"I know a cue when I hear one," Marshall squirmed his way out of his halfway-hug with Mary and seized the knife lying nearby so he could begin passing out bites of cake. "Mark my words though ladies and gents – I'll be the one getting censured if she throws it all up," a childlike simper to show he was kidding.

"Maybe it's your wacky chromosomes making it happen," Mary announced at random. "You never know."

"There is actually no known cause for morning sickness or nausea during pregnancy," Marshall grabbed hold of his opportunity to be an academic at once, eliciting groans from both Mary and Stan. "It is thought to originate from a combination of the pregnancy hormone HCG…"

Jamie, Mary thought automatically.

"…Estrogen, if you have an enhanced sense of smell, an already sensitive stomach, or stress…" there was a gap in his speech as he let the profoundness of these factors sink in. "I can't imagine what the culprit might be in your case," raising his eyebrows over his shoulder at Mary, an air of irony in his tone. "Might it be that pesky organism we call stress?"

He handed her a plate with a truly gargantuan piece of cake, and she abandoned the fork in favor of licking some of the icing off with her finger.

"Nah, I think it might be from all that estrogen I have stored up," Mary wisecracked, sucking on her nail and watching the mortified Stan with hilarity. "What do you think, chief?"

"I think I've got quite an appetite now, thanks to you two," the bald one dripped with sarcasm.

Mary gave a cackle, feeling more and more like her old self as the minutes passed – a beaming Delia, an awkward Stan, a boring Marshall. All of it gave her reprieve; a reprieve she'd needed after the sort of morning she'd been through. Mary wasn't always one to run from her problems, but in this case, she knew an hour or two to put them on the backburner could do her a world of good.

Delia, who was packing her muffins into Tupperware behind the cake, decided this was a decent moment to pipe up with some pregnancy know-how of her own.

"But, I heard if you're having a boy you also produce testosterone…"

"That's true!" Marshall crowed, positively reveling in Stan's embarrassment.

"So…wait a minute…" Mary goaded the discussion further, purely out of ecstasy at seeing Stan so flustered. "I've got testosterone plus like…what? Triple the estrogen from mine and the girl? That's heady stuff boss, wouldn't you say?" she clapped him on the shoulder, and he tossed her a dark look.

"You all are treading a mighty fine line…" wagging a quavering finger.

"Sounds like _he's_ the hormonal one," Mary cut him off and he chuckled grimly.

"Touché inspectors…" Stan shook his head and reached out for the slice of cake Marshall presented to him. "Touché."

"Such a wuss," Mary mocked shamelessly even though Stan had seceded from this thorny combat; she picked up her fork at a prod from Marshall, toned down her uncouth licking, and dug into the red velvet. "Come on, Stan. You think it's any picnic living through this roller coaster for nine months? Hearing about it is small potatoes."

"The woman speaks the truth," Marshall agreed. "Even through a mouthful of dessert. I guess I should've checked with Jinx to see if you had pie or something at the restaurant."

"Wait…" Mary took pause just as Delia snapped the lid on her third bin of muffins. "Jinx knew about this?" with her utensil hanging out her mouth, biting on the teeth in the fork.

Marshall gave a laugh that was rather arrogant considering his usual modesty, "Why do you think she took you to lunch? Why do you think I didn't go with you to the doctor?"

"Ooh, little off our game, are we inspector?" Stan jeered, eager to be one-up on somebody given his previous vanquishing. "Guess we don't totally suck at the whole surprise thing."

"Put a sock in it, chief," Mary warned. "You too, Poindexter."

"You don't mess with the pregnant lady, that's for sure!" Delia streamed in nicely.

"Damn straight," Mary concurred, looking down see that she'd already demolished her red velvet in no time flat; it was nearly gone. "What would you have done if they'd sent me over to the hospital to have these kids?" she inquired of Marshall, knowing from what Doctor Reese had told her a week before that this was a real possibility if she came in with blood pressure in the stratosphere.

"Well…" her partner swallowed, scraping for crumbs on his plate. "As boisterous as I felt about getting this little soiree underway…"

"Don't say soiree," Mary interrupted mechanically.

"…I do believe the arrival of the children would take precedence. I am sure Stan and Delia would've taken a rain check."

"We'll be there with bells on when the little darlings show their faces," Delia assured them both with a radiant smile. "Who needs balloons and wrapping paper when the reason for it all shows up?"

"And here I thought nothing could top balloons and wrapping paper," Mary jibed and her feminine co-worker laughed cheerily, obviously tickled pink that the blonde was taking the celebration in stride.

With her cake almost completely flattened to where only the twins could feast on it now, Mary was just getting ready to tear into the few, minimal gift bags that were scattered nearby when she heard a faint buzzing sound. At first, she thought it was perhaps a mower or leaf blower outside, but the longer she listened, the more she realized it was probably her cell phone buried in her bag.

She turned to Marshall, who was already listening intently to Delia describing the various types of biscuits she'd packed up for them to take home; Stan was tinkering with one of the coiled ribbons on his sack.

"Let my grab my phone real quick…" she told him. "Make sure it's nothing important…"

"Go ahead," Marshall sanctioned, munching happily. "We'll be here."

Grateful that her scooting off was not being looked upon as trying to ditch the party, Mary lumbered her way over to her desk, depending upon the trio she left behind to keep up the flow of conversation in her absence. Thinking she wouldn't unearth the cell from the depths of her tote until her voicemail kicked in, she fumbled in picking up, and didn't have a shot at seeing the number on the ID.

"This is Mary."

The gruff, raspy voice on the other end wasn't hard to decipher, "Hey doll; how you doing?"

Mary righted herself to avoid the protesting kicks in her belly the twins caused when she was hunched over, and then took care to respond.

"Hi Seth," arching a spasm in her back upon straightening up. Then she recalled their talk from several days before, "Sorry, I guess I never got back to you…"

"Ah, you think I don't understand the pitfalls of being a US Marshal?" he waved away her apologies at once. "In fact, you can expect for me to be pounding on your front door if you start calling _too_ much. Little hard work never hurt anybody."

"Well, usually I'd agree with you," Mary lamented gloomily. "But, hard work's getting a little…hard anymore."

"Excuses-excuses…" Seth crooned genially, and Mary knew he was joking. "What have you got going on right now? You busy?"

"Uh…" she glanced to the party beyond; Stan was engrossed in his slice of cake and Delia seemed to have dove into one of the gift bags. She was displaying what looked like hand-knitted blankets to Marshall, who was fingering the threads. "My office mates threw me an impromptu bite-sized, do-it-yourself baby shower. Nothing fancy, at my request."

Seth gave a low chuckle, "How did you ever get Marshall to agree to that?"

She grinned at how well the man knew his son. He was well-aware that, given his way, Marshall would've gone all out, the whole nine yards, complete with giant teddy bears and guess-the-birth-weight. Mary recoiled just thinking about it, but soon got back to Seth.

"Something about my current condition has Marshall giving me pretty much everything I want."

"At least I taught him well," Seth mused, taking all the credit. "You always put the woman first. Open the door; pick up the check, all that stuff."

"Yeah, but this isn't 1950, old man," she decided she'd trot out his nickname now that he'd used hers. "And I'm not most ladies."

Another chortle from the man, "You've got that right."

There was a lapse while Mary tuned back into the gathering for a moment. The blankets Delia was showing off looked nice and warm; she'd used thick yarn and colors besides pale pink and blue, probably after Marshall had given her some sort of head's up. From this distance, she distinguished both as being striped, one with navy and crimson, the other in yellow and orange. Mary was heartened by not being able to decode which was for the boy and which was for the girl.

"So…" she shook her head, forgetting that she was leaving Seth hanging. "Any particular reason you called? I'm not trying to get rid of you or anything, I was just wondering…"

"As a matter of fact, there is," he cut her off. "I was looking to make a little odyssey to Albuquerque around the time those grandbabies of mine come soaring into existence. You think that'll work for you and Marshall?"

Mary was slightly baffled, as Seth had given no indication he wanted to come and visit – not to her, anyway. She supposed it was possible that he and Marshall had cooked it up, but for some reason she didn't think so. She and Seth had developed their own unique bond since she'd gotten pregnant.

"I…well, I don't know yet…" she confessed honestly. "But, why are you asking me and not Marshall? Especially when you use words like 'odyssey' and show me where he got that annoying habit of throwing around phrases like that one?"

Seth didn't elaborate on the second part of the question, just the first, "_He_ doesn't know when the kids are likely to come. You're the brains of this outfit."

She couldn't resist feeling a little bigheaded upon hearing such an explanation; a surge of egotism shot through her veins. It could not be denied that Marshall had as much to do with the pregnancy as she did, but it was nice to be singled out since she was the one lugging them around; feeling every cramp, kick, and punch at every second.

"Well, I hate to break it to you, but I don't really know either," she told the man in reference to the twins' due date, despite her sense of pride. "It's still pretty up-in-the-air."

"Get back to me when you have a more definite time, won't you?" Seth requested. "I wouldn't want to miss it."

"Yeah, sure…" Mary said, thinking her and Marshall were going to do as much anyway. Just then, a beep sounded in her ear, signaling the call waiting. She pulled the cell away to check the name this time, and saw that it was Tripp. Unsurprised but a little apprehensive, she knew she was going to have to let Seth go. "But, I've gotta head out right now. Thanks for calling, though."

"You bet. Enjoy your little celebration."

Mary snorted, "Right." She abandoned Seth without saying a formal goodbye and immediately switched to her most active witness, "Hey. Tripp?" just to make sure.

"Yeah, it's me," he validated her guess. "Bad time?"

"No…"

She looked back to the congregation for a third time and saw that, on this go around; Marshall was staring back at her, sucking on his fork to get all the frosting. She held up her index finger and mouthed, 'Tripp' before he nodded and tapped his watch. He didn't want her to hurry up, but to keep herself in check. Neither one of them had forgotten the impasse they were at with her blood pressure.

"I've kind of been waiting for you to call," Mary left Marshall in the dust and returned to more pressing matters. "I thought your mom would've paid you a visit by now."

"Oh, she did. Make no mistake," he chuckled bitterly. "Yesterday, right after she saw you and Marshall."

"Then she couldn't have been in a very good mood," his inspector reminisced forebodingly.

"That's kind of an understatement, but yeah," Tripp replied. "It just wasn't anything I felt like I needed to tell you right away – you deserved a break from our wacky family. I'm used to her shouting and trying to make me feel guilty. It doesn't work on me like it works on Gretel though."

Mary groaned, "Oh yeah. Gretel," she'd been so caught up in defending Tripp's honor plus her own at her and Maureen's encounter that she'd sort of forgotten about the little girl. Marshall had been the one to deal with her. "Was she there when you all had it out?"

"No," there was a gracious hue to his voice. "But, I'm pretty sure mom tried to sway her after I went home. She – Gretel – called me all upset. I feel really bad; I didn't want her to have to choose sides…"

"Unfortunately, custody battles kind of have that stain to them," Mary grumbled.

"Mom kept acting like I'm trying to _steal_ her, which is bogus…" he totally evaded the woman's side-note and kept on with his story. "I never wanted to take Gretel; she makes me sound like an embezzler or something."

Mary had to snigger at the term he'd coined, but allowed him to go on without interjecting any of her own thoughts.

"I would like nothing better than to have custody and have mom turn her life around; then we could be one of those picture frame families…" a small sigh snuck in, like his artificial stab at being undisturbed was wearing a little thin. "But, I know better. I know that's not gonna happen; it's been the same for too long."

"Yeah…" Mary exhaled as well, but had to take an extra second to lean on the corner of her desk, for Marshall was gesturing like an air traffic controller for her to sit down. "Yeah, I know Tripp. But, you're not getting cold feet, are you?"

"Nuh-uh…" Mary supposed this constituted a 'no.' "I knew how she'd be. Watching Billy and Gretel suffer – that's what sucks. They've had enough of that."

"Well, so have you," she reminded him. And then, seeing that her companions were about to cut themselves additional wedges of cake, she knew she had to return to the festivities. "Anyway. Thanks for the update. You haven't heard anything from Maureen since yesterday?"

"Nope."

"Okay…" she chewed on her lower lip in thought, wondering if it was possible that the woman had actually bit the bullet, hunkered down, and accepted her fate. Was it too good to be true? "Maybe she's just trying to come to terms with everything. Maybe you'll get lucky."

"Nah, I don't think so," Tripp countered confidently. "Mark my words. She'll be hitting the bottle hard this weekend; she'll sleep it off on Sunday, and be weeping and begging me on Monday. Wait."

He released another sour laugh, but Mary couldn't join him. She was too familiar with that routine by her own mother in her youth to find it very amusing.

"Well, for your sake, I hope that's not what happens," she wrapped up. "Let me know if you have anything else you need – but it's mostly you and your lawyer now. We'll just keep an eye on security; make sure your mom doesn't try to skip off to New Orleans. But, now that she's under the eye of court and WITSEC, I have a feeling she'll be hanging around."

"All right," Tripp picked up on the finality of her tone and hastened to close the discussion as well. But, just before Mary was about to bid him farewell, "Oh – wait. One more thing."

"What?"

The whole aura around his bearing completely changed. Mary couldn't say for sure how she recognized this through the phone, but his voice took an upswing; there was a lively, brisk eminence, one that almost said he knew something she didn't. Or else something he was going to toss her way without warning. Turned out it was the latter.

"I have to know. Did you really hit my mom?"

Mary opened her mouth to defend herself, to put the wall up and justify her actions, but nothing came out, and so she wound up just standing there looking stupid. With any other witness, she'd have been horribly embarrassed, whether she admitted to it or not. As it was, she was still pretty ashamed, but the obvious pleasure in Tripp's voice had her feeling a little less accountable.

"Kind of…" she finally expressed quietly. "Sort of. Not really."

This time, he laughed for real, "Well, which is it?"

Mary shook her head, suddenly wanting to return to the party just so she could get away from this dialogue.

"She got smart with me, and I kind of shoved her. I didn't hurt her or anything…"

"No, I figured that. Not like you couldn't have."

"Listen buddy, I don't want you getting any ideas here," Mary cut in very sternly. "It's not something I'm proud of. I'm supposed to be a professional…"

"Would you chill out?" he was really guffawing now, which for some reason annoyed Mary. "I don't care. She was probably asking for it."

At this, the Marshal stuck a hand on her hip, "She is your mother, Tripp. Don't you have any loyalty?" said with only a hint of malice.

And he did retreat, "Well, okay…if you'd really roughed her up, I'd be pissed, but I was picturing you guys in some kind of cat fight. It seemed funny, is all. But, I get it – not cool. Definitely not cool," he was practically shaking with concealed delight. "But, I've never had a pregnant broad take the heat for me before. That's one for the record books."

This time, he didn't manage to control himself and Mary found herself laughing right along with him. It caught Marshall's attention, and he sent a shining grin her direction, thrilled to see her loosen up, no matter what the reason.

"You watch your back, all right?" she got around to managing her giggles to give Tripp one last order. "Keep an eye out – nose down, all that."

"I know the drill," he promised. "Thanks Mary."

"What I'm here for."

And she finally hung up, sliding the Blackberry onto her desk beside her computer before joining the bash once more. Marshall immediately wove his arm around her waist at her arrival and laid a gentle, flurrying kiss onto her honey-colored hair.

"You weren't gonna leave us hanging, were you?" he gave a mock protest and she hit him lightly in the chest.

"Spare me, dingus. Let's get started on those presents."

And without further ado, she snatched the nearest sack and began ripping it open.

XXX

**A/N: I would love the feedback if you have time, but I know with it being summertime and the holiday weekend, people are probably off doing their own thing, which I understand! XOXO**


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N: I miss my familiar reviewers, but it's so nice to have some new ones too! You guys are great.**

XXX

Mary was spent by the time dusk began to settle over the hazy Sandia Mountains outside her bedroom window. Anymore, it seemed as though nighttime was reserved for her body protesting what she put it through day in and out. In the last week alone, her daughter had sped southward; she'd nearly fainted, and then barfed because of one whiff of jalapeño sauce. Tuesday through Thursday had hardly been flattering, and so Mary had to hope for a mediating evening now that it was finally Friday.

She settled herself in bed after a light dinner – she was still full from all the red velvet cake – and read for awhile, only giving half her attention to the pages. Her lids were hanging, just pleading to close even though it was not even eight thirty. With the gorgeous, orange-purple hue glowing through the white curtains, she felt like she was about to fall asleep inside a giant, fiery snow globe. Encompassed beneath the pretty shades of warm and cool, her eyes grew heavier and heavier. She was already in her stretchy drawstring pants, expanded to their fullest extent. The old five-point-star T-shirt she wore that used to belong to Marshall was like an airy sheet over her substantial figure.

When Marshall entered the bedroom, it was to find his woman dozing against her propped pillows, the book she'd been reading bent at the middle and spread across her chest. He could see her ribcage rising and falling steadily, could even hear the faint whistle from her nose that meant she was far past nodding off. Smiling softly at the sight, not to mention Beatrix curled up on his side of the bed, guarding her master, he proceeded cautiously so as not to wake his partner.

Unfortunately, when he sat upon the mattress, swiping the cat away with his hand, she stirred anyway. The silver lining was perhaps that he hadn't startled her. Her green eyes, colored the most evergreen of forest floors, blinked feebly and she groaned, undeniably from having leaned awkwardly against her back.

"Hey, sleepy…" Marshall greeted her easily, arching on his elbow and planting a kiss in the middle of her forehead before she could come to any further.

"Hi…" Mary slurred, shimmying slowly upward so she wouldn't be slouching against the headboard. Rubbing one eye with her finger, "What time is it?"

"A little after eight thirty," he reported. "I just finished the dinner dishes. You should go back to sleep," tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "Get all the rest you can."

"Just a nap…" she insisted. And then, because she had to not because she wanted to, "We need to talk anyway."

"That is not a sentence any man wants to hear," he joshed coyly.

"Don't be cute…"

She transferred her weight once more, trying to make sure her back wasn't going to scrunch against her pillows, but the sudden movement roused her overactive uterus. Mary should've known she wasn't going to get out of the evening without a little roar of disapproval from her internal system.

"Ooh…" sucking in her breath sharply, her right hand rambled routinely across her lower abdomen. A tightening, constricted sensation seemed to crush every wall of her stomach inward. After a careful, balanced breath, "Ouch…"

"What?" fortunately, Marshall was laid-back, used to her aches and pains, and especially relaxed when Mary didn't make a fuss. "You cramping up?"

"Yeah…" she moaned, beginning to rub her belly as if that would make the throbbing go away. "It's nothing…I'm just tired…" she'd said that more in the last nine months than she had in her whole life.

"Well, its excellent practice," Marshall declared, patting her knee affectionately as she stopped inhaling and exhaling. "Since I cannot get you to enroll in Lamaze, I say the more Braxton-Hicks contractions, the better."

"Marshall…" she groaned, allowing her head to fall onto the pillow as the twinge floated away, leaving her with only the usual soreness. "I'm not going to Lamaze. It's a bunch of breathing. My parents may have been a pair of slouches, but I'm pretty sure we covered breathing in the first few hours."

"It's _regimented_ breathing," he emphasized. "Based on a series of baseline breathing, slow breathing, blowing breathing, and patterned breathing that…"

"Say _breathing_ one more time and you're getting smacked," Mary broke in callously. "I'm not going. I have a very high threshold for pain. Contractions can't be much worse than being blasted in the gut."

"That is not the point," Marshall lounged on his elbow, his rumpled hair falling in his face. "It helps you to concentrate, to feel confident, to have something to focus on…"

"Marshall, I know you're big on the whole castle in the sky thing, but not even a bunch of 'hee-hee-hoo' is gonna keep me from worrying about these kids when they're about to come shooting out."

At this, he had to laugh, and he scratched the back of his head absently while Mary grinned back at him. He knew it was unintelligent to push her given her current lifestyle. She'd lost control of so many aspects of her survival since expecting the twins. It was hard to argue that she couldn't hold this one thing over his head. He just dreaded the occurrence of her going into labor naturally and not being prepared for the ride.

And, as their laughter tittered into silence, Mary knew the whole reason she'd insisted they talk was about to be presented. In truth, she did not know if their decision about the amniocentesis would even hold; she was supposed to have called Doctor Reese's office before the end of the day and that hour had come and gone. She hadn't had a chance to confer with Marshall, and so now she was unclear on what their options were.

"You know, as we are in the realm of labor and delivery…" Marshall was the one to broach the subject, and Mary was glad for it. "I guess we should weigh the pros and cons of the amnio. Have you thought about it any more thoroughly since you left the office?"

Mary sighed through her nose and saw Beatrix coil up beside her feet at the end of the bed now that Marshall had taken her spot. For a minute, she became engrossed in the cat; analyzing her pick at her front paws and wash her fur. She was a simple being. Mary half-wished that, right now, she could be right there with her.

When she blinked and zeroed in on Marshall again, he was just sitting there waiting. His tolerance and the way he valued her opinion was to be admired. Even so, she was almost one hundred percent positive he would not see eye to eye with what she was about to say.

"I don't want to do it."

Much faster than Mary was anticipating, he nodded solemnly, "I know. Well, I gathered you would feel that way."

This didn't exactly floor Mary. He knew her inside and out, so it was no mystery as to how he'd guessed her aspirations.

"Have you seen the size of that needle?" she whispered stealthily, like it was a facet that was indecent to expose. "What if they stick one of the kids? It's twice as possible with two of them in here…" she drew a ring around her tummy with her finger.

Marshall sat up a little straighter, fixing her with his best, most scholarly stare, "You sound like you know how the procedure works. Do you know what it is they're looking for during an amnio? Did anyone explain that to you?"

Mary shook her head, even though she couldn't be sure whether Doctor Reese had gone more in-depth or not. She'd sort of tuned out the later half of the appointment.

"All I heard was that they do it to see if the kids' lungs are developed."

"Yeah, that's right," Marshall harmonized with this. "What they'll do is use an ultrasound to find a pocket of amniotic fluid the furthest from either Frick or Frack…" those names sounded strange used in such a statement. "That way, there's less chance of them hitting one of the kids. They use the needle to withdraw enough amniotic fluid to test. Make sense?"

"It makes perfect sense," Mary shrugged. "It doesn't mean I want to have it done."

Her partner was guarded in the way he progressed. He hadn't forgotten her appeal that he not sweeten every scenario; she wanted to be given the realities without him going overboard. Still, he felt this was partially his decision, though he did not want to decrease the amplified consequence it had for Mary over him. Nevertheless, they were his children too.

"The last thing I want to do is pressure you," he said seriously, wiggling closer to her on the bed. "Believe me; Jinx said you were kind of torn up about it…"

"She is such a blabbermouth," Mary growled through his spiel.

"But, this is a commitment we'll have to decide to make or break," he went on as if there'd been no drift at all. "The worst case scenario is that you'll go into premature labor…"

"And if the kids' lungs don't work, what are they odds they'll survive?!"

Her voice had elevated considerably, and Marshall's intent was not to wind her up. He extended a hand to stop her before she got started and, fortunately, the beatings against her already fragile body guided her back against the pillows.

"But, think about this…" his hand was still raised in her face, halting her objections. "If they know their lungs aren't going to function properly outside of the womb, they'll know to put you on bed rest. That'll hopefully restrain your blood pressure. It gives us more information – awareness is everything here."

Mary didn't look convinced, "Can they even stop premature labor if it starts?"

Marshall was glad of a question; it meant she was debating, "It depends. Sometimes. I would think, though I can't be sure, that it would be easier to rein in-in your case, given the fact that you haven't started dilating. Doctor Reese's office said they could get you in for the amnio on Monday."

The woman immediately narrowed her eyebrows, flashing her most threatening glare. How would Marshall know that if he hadn't called them? Surely he would not have called them without her consent. He had to know better than that.

"And…when did they tell you that?" she tried not to sound accusatory from the get-go, but it wasn't easy.

His smile was innocent, "I had them schedule us tentatively for Monday morning. We didn't have an opening to converse about this earlier. The appointment is easily broken. But, if we want to go through with it, it's there at our convenience."

Mary skated right over his wholly blameless intentions, because only one word – well, two in sum – had floated through to her conscious mind. The constant repetition of 'us' and 'we' was difficult to miss.

"We?" she repeated skeptically.

He arched his eyebrows, "Surely you'd want me there?"

Mary nodded several times, unaware that she seemed to be agreeing to the procedure without thinking, "Can you?"

Marshall reached for her hand and squeezed lightly. It brought a sense of tranquility into Mary's soul; it reminded her of the first, brand-new days of their relationship, when just compressing his hand was a treasure to behold.

"Even if the witnesses run amok," he swore. "I'll be there."

Mary went quiet for a second, not ready to entrust herself to anything without thinking it through. Nonetheless, her and Marshall's last exchange made it sound as though she'd come to her conclusion; asking him to be by her side gave the impression she'd be on that table come Monday morning.

Still holding his fingers firmly in hers, "Marshall, it…it's…it just feels too risky…"

As her tone petered out, the man reflected that once before, in a different lifetime it seemed, Mary had been the first person to take a leap. Threat levels didn't matter to her. She was bold and brash and ready to conquer the world head-on. Even so, it wasn't fair to claim she'd lost this trait – she'd just had to pool those instincts in favor of doing what was best for the babies.

"I suppose you have to weigh which…I don't know…" he was thinking out loud as he went along. "Which…concern bothers you the least."

Mary frowned, "What?"

Marshall rushed to clarify, "As you've said, the fear isn't going away. So, you have to decide – or rather, we do. Does it scare you more to have the amnio and lie in wait for premature labor and unfavorable test results?" he paused to take a breath. "Or is it scarier to do nothing – to put your trust in nature and hope that when the twins come, they'll be healthy."

There was a lot of verbiage in that proposition to wade through, and even after Mary dissected all of it, she still couldn't be sure of her answer. Both impending options had their benefits and their drawbacks, but most big judgments were like that. Neither was going to be perfect.

Eventually, she inferred one aspect she could be sure of, "I'm not so great at… 'doing nothing,'" drawing air quotes around the word.

Marshall nodded laboriously, "That is true. You are a take-charge-kinda-gal."

"Or at least I used to be," she grumbled distractedly. "Before I became such a wimp."

Marshall was saddened to see her eyes fall to the bedspread in ignominy, that she outwardly viewed herself as broken or damaged. He liked to think her old action-packed self had simply taken a leave of absence. It would return when she didn't have the weight of two babies resting on her mind.

As it was, he fell fully onto his side, so as to give his elbow a break, and broadened his grip, lifting her chin from her chest so her eyes met his. She rolled them, but he could still see the clouds swirling within – the uncertainty, the degradation, the terror. All that in one glance of green.

"Come on, don't talk about yourself like that," he insisted softly. "You and I both know you're not balking because you're flinching at some little needle…"

"It's not exactly little," she interspersed, and Marshall was mildly bowled over to hear how timid she sounded. "Marshall…"

And then the prayer; all she had to do was say his name, and he knew she was placing all her convictions into him. When the panic became so vast and she saw no way out, she needed him to make her feel sequestered again. Despite anything she might say, Mary's whole belief system was grounded on whatever Marshall said.

"Marshall, if I go through with this and then something happens to them…" she swallowed so hard to keep from crying that he saw the lump go down her throat. "How can I live with that? I can't…"

"Mare, there's no way to know…"

To counteract his logic, he jumped to a cross-legged position and put an arm around her chest. It was not as intimate as their hug from the night before, as he only had one limb extended and she was not reciprocating, just allowing her chin to fall on his shoulder. But, he could feel her trembling, however slightly, and knew he'd chosen the best selection to bring her into his circle.

"Please don't think I'm trying to influence you at all…" he began, patting her massive back.

"I don't…" she assured him quietly.

"But, I think this may drive you insane if you don't get all the data you can. It'll be like living in the dark…"

Mary had a sudden flash of herself in a shadowy space, like she was underground. She heard thunder and saw flashes of lightning; felt the inconvenient constrictions in her belly as she tossed and turned in bed. She thought of a little boy who'd floated in her subconscious in the twilight – a little boy she couldn't grab and cling to.

And then she remembered the voice on the other end of the phone. The voice that gave her something to hang onto. That voice was her light through the shades – when everything seemed hopeless, it was the rope she'd climbed to crawl from the hole.

"I think we'll be better off if we know what we're dealing with…" Marshall was still talking over her shoulder. "You don't want to be trapped in the dark."

As he was unbeknownst to Mary's memories, he didn't understand why she gave a more pronounced shudder at these words. She fought hard to regain control, pinching her eyes closed, but the quiver wasn't missed this time.

"Okay?" he said cajolingly. "You gonna be okay? You think we can do this?"

For a man who wasn't trying to manipulate her one way or the other, he was awfully convincing. Against all her tremors, phobia, and disquiet, Mary pulled herself back to solid earth, and showed it by allowing her hand to rest on Marshall's back, completing the embrace.

"I…I guess…" she'd meant to sound more firm than that. "Yeah. Yeah. Let's do it."

She felt a kiss to her temple when Marshall turned his head, "Good girl," he praised, which made Mary feel about five years old, but she ignored whatever inadequacy she experienced by swimming in Marshall's support. "That's my girl. You'll be fine. You're strong; you beat people up…"

Mary knew he was referring to Maureen and she coerced a laugh from somewhere deep within, although she doubted Marshall could be fooled given how warbling it sounded. He gave her an uneven slap on the back to show they were finished and could segue however inexpertly into another topic.

"Tripp asked me about that…" Mary sniffled, counting on Marshall not to call attention to it, and pulled away to relax against her pillows once more. He reclined breezily, folding his elbows underneath his head to listen. "When he called this afternoon," she went on. "I guess Maureen must've told him I tried to pop her one."

"I will not say it was your finest moment, but…" Marshall raised his eyebrows, telling her he'd gotten over it. "How is Tripp anyway? Did he pick up any sort of vengeful vibe from Maureen?"

"He said no," she reported simply. "Said he didn't get anything beyond what he expected."

"Well, I guess that's as much as we could hope for," Marshall gave an involuntary stretch where he lay. "It'd be nice if they got this squared away with their attorneys before the twins are born. You could have some peace of mind that way."

"I'm not sure peace of mind is the most attainable goal for me right now," Mary quipped broodingly.

After that, Marshall fell silent, yawning widely and settling into the refuge of his fluffy pillows. While Mary often ridiculed him for it, she knew his drowsiness was outmatched only by her own. Therefore, she kept her mockery to herself and went yet another direction with their banter, even though Marshall's eyes were closed.

"So…" she had to pause to permit a yawn of her own to escape. "What have we got going on tomorrow?" it being the weekend barely registered with Mary; she felt like the last five days since Marshall had returned from Wyoming had gone on for months.

"Sleeping in…" he droned affably, and Mary took her turn at bequeathing a minimal amount of affection by raking her nails through his hair. He gave a contented sigh, "Other than that…weren't your mom and Brandi coming over to sort out all that stuff in the nursery?"

"Jesus, that's right…" Mary had forgotten, but she knew it had to be done. Since her shopping excursion with Jinx, their two ton load of plastic sacks bulging with baby bulk had been sitting in the empty room. "Where are we gonna put all of it? We don't have anything but cribs…"

"I talked to Peter the other day," Marshall informed her groggily, about to refute her postulations about lack of furniture. "He said he has a pair of matching dressers from his parent's place we could have. He's gonna lug them over in a pick-up truck from the dealership tomorrow."

"Are they all chipped and splintery?" she couldn't resist asking.

Marshall gave a knowing smirk beneath his daze, "I feel dauntless giving Peter the benefit of the doubt. I do not think he would donate shabby dressers to his niece and nephew."

The mention of Peter being an uncle brought Mary back to Brandi, and the fact that she'd be an aunt. Anymore, it seemed her sister only contacted her to bring up themes that Mary long since wished to forget – marriage and Mark being the most prominent. There was no telling what she'd come packing the next day, but at least she'd promised to warn her when Mark appeared in the southwest.

"I'd be equipped for anything if Peter's bringing Brandi along…" she notified her partner. "She's been quoting the marriage line at me a lot lately."

Once was not 'a lot' but Mary had a habit of exaggerating when it came to her little sister.

Marshall slipped his eyes open, looking wooly beneath his lashes, "What marriage line?"

She hunched her shoulders, not seeing this consultation as problematic at the outset, "Well, you know – you and me. She wants us to tie the knot purely so she can buy a new dress and pick out flowers."

She didn't expect Marshall to blink at her like he was disoriented, nor did she foresee him sitting up further, so as to appear more alert. He'd been halfway to dreamland before she'd broached the subject of vows. What was wrong with her? What was she thinking?

"We talked about that…" his eyebrows were furrowed and his voice was steady, if not puzzled. "You said you didn't want to get married."

"So did you," Mary reminded him, suddenly feeling hot, as though she had some undisclosed secret. "You said you didn't want to get married either."

"Well…that's not really what it was," he corrected her evenly. "We agreed it wasn't necessary – that it was a mere formality. I never said I didn't _want_ to. Have you changed your mind?"

"What – no!" Mary insisted starkly, shaking her head just to prove it. "Marshall, that's not what I was getting at. It's my dumb sister's pipe dream, not mine. Okay?"

Christ. How had they ended up here? Like Mary nearly coming undone over the amniocentesis wasn't bad enough, now they had to throw nuptials into the mix? She was such an idiot for even bringing it up. Brandi's chirping lines about bluebirds and wedding bells were in the background now; it had been three days since she'd even approached the topic with Mary. Why had it stayed in her head like this? What had prompted it to resurface?

She suddenly remembered the altercation with Maureen and Maureen's steadfast presupposition that she and Marshall were cohabitating and becoming parents because the man felt sorry for her. She got a chill every time she thought about that argument, because the words had cut to the bone; they'd opened a whole new frightening world of possibilities Mary never even considered. Losing the babies was her number one fear, but allowing Marshall to slip from her grasp was a level of horror she could not even contemplate.

Was it possible she'd reverted to the marriage motif because, subconsciously, it was something she wanted? Did it even matter that it was something she wanted if Marshall didn't? If he wasn't on board, she wasn't going to pressure him. The fat lady had sung. Marriage out of pity would be sickening.

"You don't have to get defensive," he suggested quietly. "I was just asking. If we're of one mind on this like we were several months ago…?"

"We are," Mary stated baldly. "I don't need to get married. You don't need to get married. The end."

Marshall cocked one eyebrow, clearly still a little confounded since she'd been the one to raise his awareness, but he also sensed the tone and knew not to mess around.

"All right then…"

"All right," Mary repeated, wanting to talk about anything other than this. "Then, that's what we'll tell Brandi if she starts sniffing around tomorrow. Mind you, she's probably gonna have a whole host of other shit she wants to tell us too. Her and Jinx have probably gotten started on names now that they're this deep in designing the nursery."

"Ah…names…" Marshall reflected, taking the shift in stride. "We got near this the other night, but I would like to start pinning a few down. Have any recommendations?"

"No," she breathed truthfully. "I haven't thought about it. Too much going on." But then, just because she wanted to seal the deal on dropping the area of marriage to avoid further embarrassment, "But, just for argument's sake, what do you like?"

Marshall kneeled enthusiastically at the sanction, his sky blue eyes dazzling with fervor. He'd obviously been sitting on this for awhile and was ready to spill now that he'd been given permission.

"For the girl, I was thinking Amelia, Annabelle, or Elana – Annabelle being Belle for short."

Mary tried her damndest not to wrinkle her nose, but none of these spoke to her; she imagined her child's name would feel right the first time she heard it – that it would fit.

"You must have a thing for those vowel sounds. But, whatever…" she waved him off. "What about boys?"

"For the boy," he began again. "I like David, Bradley – Brad, obviously – or Brett."

Again, there seemed to be a theme running through the initial sounds of these names, but Mary, once again was not convinced of their credibility. She hoped Marshall wasn't too attached to them, but judging by his excitement in getting to share, he'd been mulling it over for awhile.

Instead of stomping all over him completely, Mary took a different route.

"Well…but…do you know anyone with those names?" she asked curiously.

He shrugged, "No, nobody noteworthy. Does it matter?"

Mary went on to contribute her own feelings, "I just…I sort of wanted them to have names that mean something, you know? Even if we don't name them after anybody, I just feel like they need to stand for something, even if it's something stupid. I mean, I was named after the Virgin Mary, but God knows how Brandi ended up with her title – not to mention Jinx."

Marshall gave a thoughtful nod, and fortunately did not seem too offended by her shutting his choices down in a round-a-bout way.

"Interesting," he proclaimed. "Well, we'll keep thinking…" he craned his neck to leave a peck on her cheek, signaling that it was time for light's out before nine o'clock. "I will bear your criteria in mind in the future."

And Mary's only thought as she snuggled down beneath the covers was hoping that the future lasted at least four more weeks.

XXX

**A/N: I hope the chapters aren't too long; I warned upfront they were going to get lengthier, so hopefully that isn't a bad thing.**


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N: Glad you guys enjoy all the serious talks with Mary and Marshall – there are quite a few of them in this story!**

XXX

Saturday went mostly as Mary expected it would, but for once she was glad for the predictably. After the rocky week she'd endured, it was nice to have just one day pan out the way it was supposed to. Marshall slept until almost ten o'clock, a sight that amused Mary since he was usually up at five, claiming he didn't want to miss 'the best part of the day.' He'd never elucidated on his reasoning for calling dawn as such, and Mary had never understood the attraction. Nevertheless, she was happy to let him slumber on, though she was out of bed just before eight because her back bothered her so much.

Lack of sleep aside, she was still able to relax through the morning – no appointments to keep, no calls to return, no one to answer to except herself. She knew those days were going to be few and far between in the not-so-distant future, and she welcomed the quiet in her lonely hours of solitude before lunch.

Jinx, Brandi, and Peter showed up around one, little sister honking obnoxiously from the passenger seat of an enormous gas-guzzler in the front drive. As Mary peered out the net curtains, she noticed the truck was bright cherry red and seemed to be glistening in the sunlight. Two dressers were all-but bolted into the cab, as promised. Judging by the shine it gave off, however, she could ascertain that Marshall had been correct – Peter had lifted the vehicle from his own dealership.

Groaning as Marshall appeared at her side, she compulsively straightened the potato sack she wore as a shirt, suddenly all-too aware of the elastic in her jeans. Marshall and Stan saw her every day, but after getting such an uncensored view of herself at the doctor's office the day before, she was feeling much more sensitive about her paunchy stature.

"The cavalry's here," Mary bemoaned dramatically. "Grandmaster Warrior is already unloading the surplus," pointing out Jinx pulling the hatch on the pick-up, as if she was going to roll the furniture in all by herself.

Marshall gave her a pat on the back, "Be a sport," he coaxed. "And don't lift anything."

"Should I expect to hear that six more times throughout the day?" she asked snidely.

"Only if you try to lift anything," Marshall admonished seriously.

"Do clothes count?" she was thinking of those stuffed sacks in the nursery, which could've easily reached ten pounds with the way Jinx had been bustling through the store.

"I'll give you a permit for clothes," he retorted, leaving the window and making his way to the front door to assist the rest of the family. "But, don't misread me here," a pointed finger with his hand on the knob. "Heavy elevating with your arms and legs is a great way put you in labor."

Mary ought to have known that he would use this fact against her; anything that involved labor would have her firmly on her ass. He was a very intelligent man. And with this less than comforting thought, he was off into the muggy July air, although they would progress right into August come Monday – a fact that had Mary very disgruntled. She dreaded the heat wave that came in that last full month of summer.

As soon as her partner hit the asphalt, it was obvious it gave Jinx and Brandi an escape from moving the dressers. They scurried inside, leaving Marshall and Peter to do the grunt work.

"Hi Mare!" Brandi called buoyantly, waving her ring-clad fingers and waltzing right into the kitchen, presumably for a drink. "Peter and I brought the dressers!"

"Gee, I hadn't noticed," Mary batted back grumpily. "I hope one of you measured to see if they'll actually fit through the front door."

Brandi's face fell as she shut the refrigerator door, looking nervous while she screwed the cap off a bottle of water. Jinx gave a coddling, pacifying sort of grin as she shut out the hot air and joined Mary beside the window.

"They'll fit," she swore, arching to peck Mary's cheek as if they hadn't just seen each other the day before. "If not, the boys can take them around back and roll them through the screen door."

This cheered up Brandi, at least, "Oh, well good…" waving a disinterested hand. "I can't wait to go through all the stuff you guys bought. Lucky me, I had to _work_ while you two went shopping without me," she pouted resentfully.

"Oh yeah, 'cause neither of us work," Mary sauntered further into the living room, nothing to see out the pane any longer. "Please. You know full well I would rather have had you two pick out everything for me – frills and bows are not my style."

"Which reminds me…" Jinx butted in. "Brandi and I have been thinking, and we may have something in the way of nursery designs," a devious grin. "But…it would be so much more fun if it were a surprise."

Mary turned this down at once, "No. No surprises. There will be hell to pay if I bring those kids home from the hospital and find princesses and race cars on the walls," she jabbed her finger at each woman in turn, figuring Jinx would be responsible for the princesses, and Brandi the cars. "No thanks."

"Come onnnnnn, Mare…!" Brandi whined, but Jinx was quick in turning her off.

"What if we tell Marshall then, honey? He can let us know if he thinks you'll like it and _then_ it'll be a secret. How's that?"

Mary did not enjoy being spoken to like they were making some sort of bargain, like she had to strike a deal with her own family members. It was demeaning; barely a step-up from degrading. She certainly had more confidence in Marshall than in her mother and sister, but she had never been much for secrecy. She'd spent her entire career shrouded in mystery; when it came to her personal life, she would just as soon have the cat out of the bag.

"I already told Brandi she should run whatever wild ideas she has by Marshall," throwing the younger a dirty look. "Funny how she seems to have forgotten _already_."

"Hello!" Brandi threw up her hands after swallowing her beverage. "Who said I forgot? I was trying to go straight to the source and this is the thanks I get?"

"Don't be such a drama queen," Mary sniped.

"All right girls just…never mind…" Jinx shook her head and stepped between them, though neither had advanced very aggressively. "We'll speak to Marshall and then go from there, okay?"

Mary, still fed-up with the both of them for her own inability to come to a resolution, scowled peevishly, but decided Jinx could have it her way.

"Fine."

She nodded approvingly, "Good-good…" she clapped her hands as though the matter were settled. "I think today we can just sort out some of those clothes, maybe find a place in the closets for the blankets and stuff; if there's time Peter and Marshall can even set up the cribs…"

And she was off, blathering a mile a minute trying to get organized, for who better candidate to decorate for the twins than Jinx. She even bustled back to the nursery without waiting for her oldest daughter, and Brandi soon followed suit, chugging water the whole way.

Mary couldn't protest too vigorously, aside from that whole 'surprise' nonsense. She was more content being with Marshall and Peter, ability to hoist objects aside. They both emerged through the front door in due course, neither dragging a dresser like a pulley.

"I think we may need another length of rope," Marshall announced as they entered. "I'm going to run out to the garage and see if I can find some."

"Be careful," Mary cautioned as his back retreated through the living room. "I might want to use that twine to tie a noose around somebody's neck," sinister humor directed toward her mother and sister.

"Yes, but Peter or I would have to verify at the morgue and we'll run into a conflict of interest…" he called over his shoulder. "So much messy paperwork."

Peter himself gave a nervous chuckle in response to their banter, as he was never quite sure how to act in the midst of it. Someone like Stan was used to it but Peter, new to their dysfunctional family circle, was not certain about when to withdraw and when to jump in with both feet.

In Marshall's absence, he shoved his hands in his pockets and diverted to what he clearly hoped was a more favorable topic of discussion.

"Hi Mary," he waved from about two feet away. "It's been awhile. How are you?"

"Oh, you know…" she groused. "Piling on the second load of weight. Put me next to an elephant in the next week, you won't be able to spot the difference."

He laughed, "Are you counting down the days?"

"In a matter of speaking," she concurred. "Mostly just trying to rein in the troops until at least the middle of August," and patting her bulge to indicate what she meant by 'troops.'

"When are you actually due again?"

"I'm forty weeks during the first week of September, but they tell me that going full-term with twins is next to impossible," she hunched her shoulders, feeling somewhat odd talking about this with someone other than Marshall. Stan was different because the subject was used to embarrass him. "So…just trying to stretch as long as I can."

Peter bobbed his head, "Right. Well…I hope the dressers work out. They still look pretty decent," peering low through the curtains, like he was making sure they hadn't gone running out of the pick-up. "They belonged to me and my sister when were kids; I don't think we managed to do too much damage."

"Yeah, thanks…" Mary said, figuring she might as well get the gratitude out of the way now. "I'm sure they'll work fine. A dresser's a dresser, right?"

"So long as the kids can't climb up the drawers," Peter inferred. "Then, I guess so."

With that, Marshall returned from the garage, carrying a whole wheel of sturdy-looking rope with which to lug said dressers inside. He, unlike Mary, looked raring to go; eager to roll up his sleeves and get down to business. She knew this was because, for him, putting the nursery together meant fatherhood was that much closer. It made him feel productive and only channeled his stimulation about being a dad. But for Mary, even if they'd thrown a room together the day before the twins arrived; it would still be too soon. Anything prior to forty long, undergone weeks was too soon.

"All right…" the taller man announced joyously. "You be good in here," he laid a kiss on her cheek condescendingly where it made a loud smack. "Peter and I will be in to help sort as soon as we're done with the moving."

"I can hardly wait," her trademark sarcasm materialized and, sending Peter a sheepish smile, she turned when they did and grudgingly went to join Jinx and Brandi.

As it turned out, neither her mother or her sister seemed to value her input very much when it came to digging through the sacks of sleepers, blankets, bottles, and whatever the hell else Jinx had snagged. Brandi squealed almost offensively loudly every time she came across a pink dress with doilies and trimmings. She would immediately shove it onto a hanger and dangle it from the bar in the closet, no matter how Mary protested that no daughter of hers would be caught dead wearing something so feminine.

As the afternoon waned on, the sky turned dark and cloudy, like there might be a storm brewing. Jinx turned on the overhead light because the outdoor tint wasn't enough to brighten the room. Mary was sitting on the floor – in and of itself a mistake because there was little chance she'd be able to get up attractively – rolling wadded up receipts across the floor for Beatrix to chase.

"Here sweetheart…" Jinx threw her a bag, perhaps so she'd feel useful. "Look in there and see if you approve."

Displeased, Mary did as told, unfurling the sack, which had Beatrix abandoning her game and sticking her nose where she heard the rustling originate.

In the confines were six pairs of overalls in varying prints – two plain denim, the other four speckled with stitched animals or plants.

"How many of these do you think the kids need?" Mary inquired in the direction of the brunette; she was folding onesies to go in the dressers which, at the moment, were sitting in the hallway.

"They were on sale," the woman claimed. "And, I thought you would appreciate the fact that they are unisex."

"Yeah, these Tonka Trucks look _real_ unisex," she held up a pair to demonstrate. "Seriously?"

"Well, I would think that you of all people would not object to a little girl wearing clothes with cars, baseballs, or tools on them," Jinx rebutted snootily. "Considering how much you hated that _darling_ pinafore dress I found…"

"Maybe I would put this girl in bulldozer print. But, that doesn't mean I want other people asking me all the time why my daughter is wearing boys' clothes," another glance at her bounty showed that the final two pairs actually seemed to be made of corduroy, and were six sizes too big. "And, what is this?" waggling the one with what looked like tan stripes. "On what planet did you think the twins would fit into these?"

Jinx huffed, "They're for winter. They'll have grown into them by then. Nobody wears corduroy in the summer, dear."

"You can't expect Mary to have knowledge of the latest fashions, mom," Brandi spoke up, standing and waltzing back to the closet to sift through hangers. "And, by the way, corduroy is not on that list. You only ever see old fart professors on casual Friday wearing that stuff."

"Great…" Mary muttered, balling the overalls and shoving them back in the sack.

"Brandi, don't be ridiculous," Jinx chastised, her eyes pleading; it appeared her one faint hope at getting Mary to accept some of the attire she'd chosen had just gone down the drain.

"It's not like you really have a lot of experience with professors anyway, Squish," the older daughter shoved in unkindly. "Really, how would you know?"

Brandi was defensive and whipped around from her place in the closet, "Hey, I want to college! And I would've kept going too, if anybody had been willing to help me with my psychology homework…"

"That's code for, 'if I hadn't met Peter,'" Mary said to Jinx in a stage-whisper, and all it earned her was a roll of the eyes.

"I never would've used psychology anyway," Brandi spoke over them, seemingly not noticing the swap. "I'd have given that massage training a go if Scott hadn't bailed out on me…"

"Boy, I wish I had so many 'what-if's' to fall back on," Mary steadied herself on the rug with one hand, preparing to rise to visit the bathroom. "Almost makes all those wasted years worth it."

"Mary…" the dancer warned, and the woman couldn't tell if she was being reproached for her brattiness toward Brandi, or because she was trying to get up unassisted.

"Yeah-yeah…" the sister in question hardly seemed offended, in any case. "We'll see who's laughing when you and Marshall need a sitter and I'm nowhere to be found."

"Ha!" Mary couldn't keep her laugh contained, and had success in making it to her feet, though she had to throw out a hand to the closest wall in order to manage it. Beatrix scuttled away, as though frightened her master might topple and squash her into a pile of fur. "That'll be the day – letting _you_ watch my kids."

"Now honey…" Jinx reasoned in her sugary-sweet voice, approaching the blonde with an outstretched hand. "You don't want to go turning down help. Believe me, too many people make that mistake…" she lost her thread for a moment when he saw Mary tottering on the spot. "Do you need help?"

"No."

"What do you need? I can get it…" she waggled her hand toward the door, perhaps indicating the kitchen.

"Can you pee for me?" Mary snapped heartlessly. "Because that would be a trick."

Jinx only looked faintly embarrassed, her cheeks turning a soft shade of pink, before she stepped aside, as though telling Mary she could lead the way. In any case, the pregnant one was anxious to leave the fray of flying baby supplies, even if it was just for a moment. Putting things away, storing them in their rightful places made the whole situation much more real for Mary. She was ready to be a mother, but she wasn't ready to be faced with the veracity of just how soon the kids might arrive.

Once she was finished in the restroom, Mary didn't hurry to get back to arranging and, detouring around the dressers in the hall, she decided to reunite with Marshall and Peter in the kitchen, only one of whom had a beer in hand. This made her jealous, and she slumped off to the fridge for something without alcohol.

"How's it going?" Marshall asked over his shoulder from his place at the island. "How much will I have to take back to the store that you did not find suitable?"

"Spare me…" Mary replied with her head in the fridge. "Like either of those two listen when I say I don't like something."

"I think Brandi's got baby fever from being around you," Peter contributed somewhat warily. "And we agreed to wait at least a year before…you know…" Mary saw him shrug when she surfaced, ready to down a bottle of juice. "Starting a family."

"I was not aware you had even thought about it," Marshall chimed in.

"And it's been a year," Mary interjected, stationing herself next to Marshall on his barstool, knowing her sister would've been married for twelve months come August. "Almost, anyway," not that she wanted to cheer on Brandi having babies this early, especially not when she perpetually saw her sister as the irresponsible twenty-year-old she had once been.

"Well, I've got six thousand things going on at the dealership as it is," this was an undertaking Peter clearly did not want to lunge into, even as he took another swig of his drink. "Now is not a good time."

"I am not sure there is a 'right' time to have children," Marshall stated philosophically, resting his bottle on his chin. "It is one of those, 'jump off the high dive' kind of things," he hypothesized. "At least, from my perspective."

"I guess…" Peter didn't sound convinced. "I'm hoping Brandi will get her fill of babies once these two come along," he circled Mary's belly indistinctly. "Delay efforts for awhile and whatnot."

Mary couldn't help wondering how Brandi would react if she heard that this conversation was going on without her consent. Undoubtedly, it would disappoint her to hear that Peter was averse to having kids until a later date. But, at the same time, if she was just contemplating motherhood because of Mary's situation, then she wasn't serious and could fulfill whatever matronly urge she had by being with the twins.

"Could your disinclination for fatherhood have anything to do with why Mary and I ended up with two perfectly good dressers that you, at the moment, have no use for, but could very well come in handy in the future?" Marshall was still theorizing, and getting very wordy at that.

Peter set his juice glass on the counter and cleared his throat, "Maybe. I thought it might pass a message to Brandi," a servile smile. "I'm not sure she picked up on it."

"I'll take that bet," Mary mused.

She'd already drunk half her apple juice, which would undeniably have her peeing again within thirty minutes, but she was particularly thirsty. Her back and legs pulsated painfully from having sat on the hard ground for the better part of an hour. She could feel a nasty cramp coming on in her calf, and just hoped she would be able to bite through the stab when it penetrated. Usually, her leg aches were confined to the evening, but her back-and-forth activity for the day obviously had them developing a little sooner.

"Anyway…" Peter went on through his sister-in-law's internal dialogue, choosing not to respond to her jab at Brandi. "I think I'll go and see how the ladies are faring. We'll have to move that furniture in at some point…"

Like many before him that day, he ambled off to the bedroom, leaving his empty cup behind. Mary hung back with her partner, running her tongue absently around the rim of her juice container, trying to divert her focus from how heavy she felt, even though she'd done nothing but sit on her ass all day.

"How are you feeling?" Marshall asked tentatively, which was pretty much a reflex at this point. Mary knew he was pinpointing both her standard throbbings and her mindset after deciding to go through with the amniocentesis. "Jinx and Brandi have you doing body-building?"

Mary's eyes were gazing at something beyond Marshall, and yet at nothing in particular.

"Hardly," she said vaguely. "I don't even need to be there."

The man couldn't fail to notice her empty features, "What are you looking at?"

"Nothing. Just thinking."

Marshall was the master of delicate prodding, "About?" as he slowly eased his hand onto her back and began to mark it with perfectly round, concentric circles.

There were a lot of answers to that question, and although Mary stared out the grey, windy sky beyond, she didn't think her reply was etched anywhere near there. She tried to discern what Marshall wanted to know about the most as she ogled, falling quickly into a trance as he caressed her sore muscles.

"This is getting…" a swallow, though there was no liquid in her mouth. "Kind of serious."

To an innocent bystander, this would look to be a comment about their relationship, not about their children. But, Marshall was smart enough to realize it was the latter.

"Yes," he uttered simply. "A nursery, with or without all the festoons of paint and mobiles, is a large step. It shows we realize these kids are going to come, one way or another."

Mary wanted to say that it could all be for nothing if the twins didn't make it out of the NICU in their first, sure-to-be-fragile weeks of life, but Marshall would hate it. He would beat himself up about her being so negative, as if it were his fault. In any case, she didn't want to ruin what had so far been a fairly decent afternoon, Jinx's and Brandi's ignorance of her opinion notwithstanding.

"I kind of knew they were going to show up at some point," she turned to face him, but he didn't stop his massage on her back. "I'd hate to find out I'm really growing a litter of kittens in here," a slow hand ran from the crest of her tummy down to the bottom, where she distinctly felt the hardened sphere that was her daughter's head.

"A litter of kittens would indeed go against the laws of nature," Marshall agreed. "Although, Beatrix might be excited."

"She'd be the only one," Mary muttered, not even able to fathom a house full of mewling little monsters when she was already so wigged-out over the twins.

Marshall fell silent for a moment, satisfied that she had shown her core, even if it was quick. He liked to peel apart the layers one by one, tear away each piece as he painstakingly reached the center. Mary had to think he was more fulfilled in the end by not goading her deep feelings from her soul.

In the quiet, her eyes found the window again, where low hanging clouds cast sun shadows on the dust-strewn earth. She could see the beams from the great ball penetrating the thick cover, but silhouettes persisted. It was a sign that light was eking out underneath, if only it could infiltrate the mass of fluff obscuring its way to the soil.

"You've got knots in your back," Marshall eventually observed, pressing harder as he said it. "That's tension, not babies."

It was the first time he had used the term 'babies' in ages. Mary had resigned herself to dealing with others' various identifying names for her children, because there was no stopping Jinx and Brandi with their baby zeal. But, Marshall had learned and meticulously made every effort to call them the 'kids' because Mary was so adamant about it. That sense of vulnerability when they were donned 'babies' still lingered.

Mary didn't know why he'd slipped up now but, just this once, she let it go.

"It's probably a little of both," she even compromised, moaning deeply as his hands roamed over all the right spots; her ligaments seemed to sing rather than protest. "Thanks…" tacking on the appreciation.

"My pleasure," he proclaimed like the noble being he was. "You want to lie down for awhile? Take a break? Peter and I can help with whatever's left."

"I better not…" Mary had to turn him down, though she longed to allow any sort of rest to take her away to a stress-free world, without worry over babies who had yet to make an appearance. "After all…"

She stood on tiptoe, for she had to when she wasn't wearing heels, and kissed him sweetly on the lips – a real thank-you for his opportune back rub.

"How many breaks am I gonna get when we pull rank and these kids take over?"

XXX

**A/N: I confess that when I first wrote this, I had Peter drinking beer too, until I remembered he was an alcoholic and wouldn't be drinking LOL! So, hopefully I caught all the references when I went back and edited it. **


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N: I hope this is still interesting. :/ I admit I was worried when I started posting that some sections would get slow and repetitive; it's such a long story that I felt like I had to stretch things out a bit, but I hope it isn't boring. (This isn't directed at anyone; I honestly had these fears all by myself. Promise).**

XXX

A light drizzle began to fall after dinner, which only enhanced Mary's craving to drift off to sleep once Jinx, Brandi, and Peter packed it up for the day and went home. She seemed to get less and less true rest with each passing day; at most, she would doze in and out of consciousness, only to be jerked awake by a rotating baby or an ill-timed twinge. Marshall tried, mostly in vain, to allow her to relax on the couch, Beatrix sniffing conspicuously around her feet, making as little noise as possible.

Unfortunately, when she had to start breathing in and out rather stridently because her stomach was so balled up, he couldn't leave well enough alone. Only, in this case, she was scarcely 'well enough.'

Marshall wandered into her midst, watching her hands press against all sides of her belly and shift arduously left to right, as if passage of her body would really help with the discomfort.

"What's going on with you?" he posed, sitting on the edge of the coffee table, much as he had on the night she'd nearly blacked out. "You look like you're hurting."

"Perceptive…" Mary puffed out with a cringe; the pain was really no different than any other constrictions she felt, just more constant. "Skip the Marshals and go straight to detective work."

Marshall's response was to place his long fingers beside her own, trying to follow the patterns of her right hand, perhaps attempting to feel the riot within. Mary knew this was pointless, if not downright stupid, but she let him do what he wanted. She could barely feel the typical gentleness of his touch for all the tightness.

In her sluggish fog, she heard him comment like the physician he pretended to be.

"Your abdomen is hard over here…" he monitored, sliding his palm back and forth. "It's Braxton Hicks, all right," as if he needed confirmation. "Just like you had last night."

"But, unlike last night, these puppies aren't stopping…" Mary didn't know why she tried to contest him, not when his explanation was far less alarming.

"They're still sporadic though, so you're out of the woods," Marshall promised. "You should drink something or take a bath – might help you relax."

Mary opened her eyes purely to glare at him, forgetting her lack of energy and pronounced tenderness for a moment.

"I am not taking a bath," she announced boldly. "Do you think I'm some little old lady?"

"I enjoy a good wash now and then," Marshall opposed, pretending to be affronted. "A cleanse with some nice bath salts and scented candles…"

"I really wouldn't spread that around," Mary shook her head at his ornate daydream. "Seriously. You are enough of a girl already. Anyway, weren't you the one who said, 'the more contractions the better?'" she turned her voice deep and mocking to resemble Marshall's.

"I meant in the hypothetical sense…"

But before he could clarify more thoroughly, Mary sucked in her breath as a principally clamorous cramp gripped her muscles; hard and fast like a fist clenched rigidly. The knuckles squeezed tighter and tighter…

"Jesus…"

One of her hands went to her forehead, her palm pushed beneath her bangs, eyes pinched together to try and gather herself, to obstruct her thoughts, to convince herself it was exactly what Marshall said. It was nothing to worry about; nothing to freak out over.

"Breathe," the man encouraged, and she felt his hand rest upon her shoulder, trying to provide comfort. "It'll pass," maintaining calm. "You did a lot of up-and-down today; your uterus is just fighting back."

Mary was able to avoid the silliness of this statement so she could nod, faster than she would've usually done, but it was her way of trying to tell Marshall that she was okay. She let out a low exhale, first out her nose, and then through her mouth, while simultaneously jiggling her foot, distracting from the bigger issue at hand.

"Good," Marshall said, transferring to patting her hair. "I do think you should at least have a beverage…" he picked up a half-empty glass of water, the ice melting, that had been left out on the coffee table earlier. "It's possible you're dehydrated and that's why the contractions are more intense than usual."

"Do you have to call them contractions?" Mary asked irritably, but she felt her heart lift as the pang trickled away.

"Well…" Marshall's hand did not leave her shoulder blade. "That's what they are, even if they are not the proverbial 'real thing.'"

"Just the same," she mumbled. "Contractions are contractions."

The more she said the word, the funnier it sounded, like it was really nothing at all, but the term still held a much deeper meaning for Mary. Contractions, like dilating, were a precursor to much more epic things to come. Marshall's everlasting serenity did not change that.

"I…I think maybe if I walk a bit…" she suggested randomly, just to get away from her own debilitating reflections. "Then they'll die down. Didn't you say movement is good sometimes?" surprising herself by revealing she'd retained that aspect of Marshall's readings.

"It can, actually," he stood up as he went along with the initiative. "That's a good idea."

Mary had to admit, she was shocked he was allowing her to go mobile with his constant berating that she stay off her feet. Still, he must've trusted that she knew her own interior workings well enough to read its drummings and to go with her instincts. No objection was made as he heaved Mary up, an act and assistance that still made the woman grumpy.

"I'm astonished – seriously _astonished_ – that we managed to get the aunt and the grandmother out of here before dark," Mary talked as she walked, wanting to avoid any sort of serious discussion. Pacing up and down in front of the coffee table, her hands on her ailing back, "By the by, did they mention this secretive nursery bit they've been hatching? For Christ's sake…"

She did not finish her thought as Marshall slumped down onto the couch she had just vacated, crossing his ankles at one end on top of a throw pillow.

"Jinx and I had a few words," he disclosed, lounging rather leisurely. "I made it quite clear that if I was averse to their design idea, I would not hesitate to bring it up with you – secrecy be damned."

Mary did her best to ignore the soreness in her ankles, because the strides were administering some measure of relief on her astringent intestines.

"So…you'll only tell me what they have planned if you think I won't like it?" annoyed with his professor-speak, she wrinkled her nose unfashionably. "Otherwise, all bets are off and I'll have to live with it when the kids come home?"

"It's just a gesture, Mare…" he formulated somewhat pleadingly, clearly tired of all the back-and-forth on this argument. "For what it's worth, I think you'll love it if you can stand not being in the know for the next month or so."

"You're taking it for granted that I trust you," Mary spat harshly.

Marshall remained resolutely cool, "It _is_ why you said you loved me."

If nothing else, this quieted Mary for a second, still tramping, wearing a hole in the rug with her bare feet. Bizarrely, she could still feel the ticking of her uterus, the in-and-out motion that meant it was still contracting, but it didn't hurt quite so much. Because of this, she kept up her rhythm, tucking falling hair behind her ears.

"I hate it when you know me," she whispered, eyes catching the falling droplets outside the front window, making a plink-plunk sound against the rain gutter.

"Should I take that as your blessing to move forward with preparations?" he wanted to know, almost mysteriously. "Put this nursery thing in the rearview?"

Mary wasn't willing to leave so much to chance, and perhaps Marshall could tell by the way she moved her mouth back and forth, reluctant to give verbal authority.

"If it makes you feel any better, the original design structure was actually my dad's idea," he declared persuasively.

Mary raised her eyebrows and halted her stride, "Really?"

"Yep," Marshall nodded forcefully, Beatrix crawling up his chest from his sprawling eagle-spread. "I've mentioned to him in the past that you've been having trouble coming up with something concrete…"

"You said that to him?"

Marshall ignored this, "And, he called me the other day with a plan – at which point he mentioned that he'd like to come into town when the kids are born, if that's okay with you."

Mary felt her cheeks flush, "I forgot to tell you about that. He asked me about it yesterday."

Her partner just lifted his hand and shook his head, "Not a problem. We'll figure out a time for him to come."

"Your mom too?"

Marshall paused to paw the cat off his neck, "I doubt it. She's running a small business up there in Montana since they moved; she'll rely on dad to give her the play-by-play."

Secretly, Mary was glad it would just be Seth who would show his face in the southwest. She liked Marshall's mother very much, but she was extremely soft-spoken and was never sure how to act around Brandi's gusto and Jinx's twittering busyness. She had actually gotten along with Peter the best on the one occasion she'd come to Albuquerque since Mary and Marshall had hooked up. Add on the fact that Mary felt the need to watch herself so much more closely in front of her and it was simply safer, in her current frame of mind, to limit the guests to Seth.

"So…" Marshall recommenced when the blonde gave no comment and took up her walk again. "Dad organized the original blueprint for the nursery – Jinx and Brandi are just going to take care of the specifics."

Mary knew she couldn't wrestle with this much longer; she had far more important things to dwell upon than wallpaper and stuffed animals. Although she had explained to Marshall why solidifying a plan bothered her – it meant acknowledging that the twins were on their way, and imminently – she still didn't know why she was so hung up on it. It was a moronic thing to mull over this methodically, and it was high time she just accepted the help and turned the other way until the nursery was complete.

"Does it involve animals?" she demanded out of nowhere.

Marshall shook his head, "No."

"Trees? Flowers? Plants of any kind?"

"No."

"What about dinosaurs or dump trucks?"

"No. And that's three guesses. You're out of options, inspector."

Marshall grinned deceitfully, and Mary found herself truly stumped. Whatever Seth and his minions had organized, it seemed she was going to have to accept her fate and let them get cracking. She still was not a fan of the covert operations, but on the other hand, a portion of her was glad to have no part in it anymore, and it was this thought that had her giving in.

"All right…" Mary said, still hesitant. "Tell them to go ahead. But, I'm done with it. It's up to them now, and they better do a damn good job…"

"Splendid," Marshall even clapped his hands together, startling Beatrix into rolling and tumbling down his long legs. "The painters will start on Monday. You'll have to stay out of there so you don't breathe the fumes."

Mary scrunched her eyebrows forebodingly, knowing that with this policy she would not even be able to sneak a peek.

Marshall evidently saw the faltering in her eyes, "You said you'd be done with it," he reminded her, though she'd stuck to this statement just seconds before. "Door closed, bolted, and all."

"That door doesn't have a lock," she snapped to side-step arguing. Reworking the conversation, "Did you talk to Stan about…?" she'd landed on an equally poor focus, "…You know. Monday?" she wouldn't say 'amniocentesis.'

He bobbed his head sedately, "All systems are go. Delia's going to head in early and Stan even has a guy at ABQ PD on standby in case of an emergency. I'll head back as soon as the appointment is over and _you_…" he stopped, boring into her with his twinkling, but blazing eyes. "Are going to come home and rest afterwards."

Mary did not want to say that she'd half-hoped things at the office would be too hectic for Stan to allow both her and Marshall to take the morning off. She could've made excuses for why she would not have the amnio without her partner in the room, thus postponing the procedure to a later date. Instead, she ridiculed his style of pampering.

"This isn't surgery," taking a hiatus from her five foot stroll, as her ankles had begun throbbing. Pinching her spine, "Who says I need to come home?"

Marshall sat up, inadvertently kicking Beatrix onto the floor, where she yowled, screeching shrilly.

"Medical advice says so," he was almost patronizing, rumpling up his hair where it had been tussled from his leaning in the cushions. "All the experts recommend that the woman relax following the test as a precaution and to lower the threat of complications."

"Complications?" Mary asked sharply, the word making chills rise over her already goose-bump-ridden arms from the whirring fan above. "Is this the premature labor route or something else?"

Surely there couldn't be anything worse than that.

"As I said," he spoke still more placidly. "It's a precaution. That's it."

It was plain he was not interested in going into too much detail, not when she was already so wound up about anything involving the kids, big or small. Fortunately, she took his straightforward prognosis fairly well and only sighed, pausing in the self-massage of her back to scratch a spot behind her ear, perhaps to look occupied.

"Is the walk doing you much good?" Marshall looked optimistic even without an answer. "I notice you haven't been wincing quite as much."

"I'm better…" Mary shrugged anyway. "But, 'better' is pretty subjective."

"Are you getting geared up for the amnio?" he diverted right back to the central premise as quickly as he'd strayed from it. "Ready to tackle this thing head on and see where we stand?"

Unexpectedly, Mary was bothered by his use of the word 'we' at this juncture. What had the night before been mellowing was suddenly close to intolerable. She supposed it could be her swinging pendulum of mood swings, but she could content herself with the notion that anybody would be annoyed with a man acting as though a pregnancy affected them as much as it affected the mother.

"What exactly do you mean by 'we?'" her efforts at staying less than malevolent didn't really work. Her body began its telltale pounding that meant it was probably time to sit back down, but she made no steps toward Marshall.

He seemed to realize his mistake, but did not back off as much as he should have, "Merely…" his cobalt eyes turned lighter and wider in his achieved innocence. For the first time, Mary realized she desperately wanted the kids' orbs to be the same color, not a muddy swamp green like her own. "…We, the two of us, will be getting vital results that tell us where we might go from here, what we might have to plan for…"

Mary was unable to keep a scoff at bay, "Plan for what? Aren't you the one who said we're practically running in blind?"

"I don't think I articulated anything of the sort," he inched to the edge of the couch, as though this would smooth the woman's temper. "I said we'd both been thrown into the deep end of the pool. And, I also said I wouldn't want you to live in the dark…"

"Well, I think it's _you_ that doesn't want to live in the dark," out of the blue, she was fired up about the way he'd talked her into the amnio the night before and transferred her hands to her hips. "And in what parallel universe did you think your 'okay' on this was enough for me?"

Still, her limbs hammered, but she felt more in control standing up, no matter how unwise. Marshall frowned, a gesture that made him look far older than he really was.

"It was last night," she didn't like that he sounded hurt or betrayed. "If you're having second thoughts, why don't you come have a seat?" he even nudged himself over to make room, since she required a great deal. "Talk to me."

Now Mary produced a scowl to match his, "I don't want to sit down," which was a lie. "Nothing you say about this makes any difference. Nerves are nerves, remember?"

Marshall did not look abashed, though he'd sworn just days before to allow the panic to envelope her, no matter what delusions he might have about repairing everything.

"Yes. I do remember."

His tone was stable and sound, something that infuriated Mary even further. Was he really as calm as he was acting? He never, ever flew into any sort of rage, not counting the escapades with Maureen. She'd almost been glad of his outburst because it proved he was a human – a mortal like the rest of the world that could become as ruffled as any other.

"Well, then you might try buttoning your trap," she barked cruelly. "If you were me, you wouldn't want some five foot fire poker being stabbed right into your uterus where it has every opportunity to rupture the very breakable bodies of your two children."

Marshall attempted not to look squeamish as a result of this very graphic illustration, and had no aspirations of claiming to be in the same boat that she was. Mary wasn't sure why she made the kids sound like a pair of porcelain china dolls, but forgot her blunder when Marshall continued valiantly.

"Indeed I wouldn't," he acknowledged. "But, I'll do my best to support you, to be physically present…"

"I don't want to do this!" she exploded, her flare-up sounding very severe amidst Marshall's stillness; he barely recoiled. "Why do I have to do this?! Why?! Why does this have to be so hard? It's so much easier for so many people…"

Marshall heard her choking voice, saw her bulging eyes, and spoke, "I wish you didn't; I'm sorry…"

"When Brandi starts having rug-rats she'll probably just sail on through!"

Leaving aside Peter's declaration from earlier, "Forget Brandi; listen to me…"

He rose to the occasion, going to meet her, but she didn't seem to notice him.

"I just want them to be okay! That's all I want…!"

Marshall had every intention of putting his arms around her, until…

"Ow! Damn it…!"

She crumpled, although it was more of an awkward hunchback with her enormous tummy in the way. At first, Marshall was sure she was clutching her stomach in another round of pesky Braxton-Hicks, but no. Her right hand scrabbled aimlessly to the back of her bloated calves, indicating a gruesome, piercing leg cramp, a sensation Marshall could not begin to imagine.

"Where? Where is it?" he got to work efficiently, recognizing the blonde's movements when such a pain struck.

"The left…" she gasped, all bickering forgotten. "Right below my knee…"

She'd stood one second too long, and had to bite her lip so hard she nearly broke through in order to keep from crying out. Her intuition was telling her to lean over, to get the weight off what could only be described as a heavy tree trunk, but it was nothing doing when she could not even see her own feet. This compelled her to utilize precious vigor in waiting for the tremor to pass.

"That's a bad spot…" Marshall sympathized, and he was on it.

He dropped to his knees and extended supple hands to her wobbly muscles. The spasm continued to radiate like it had its own beating heart against her thickened skin. Marshall rubbed slowly, conscientiously, all the while whispering instructions.

"Try to straighten your leg – flex your ankle and toes backward, in the direction of your shin…"

Mary had heard this advice many times before, but her calf protested when she attempted to uncurl it, the pain firing viciously through all her adjoining veins.

"Christ…!" blocking it out was all she could do, to screw up her mind to ward it all away. "That's worse!" and she powered on anyway, mostly at Marshall's urging.

"I know, I know, but push through. It might alleviate it if you go all the way…"

And so Mary forced herself past the breaking point, ankles and toes screaming in objection; this was almost worse than the contractions, because it was so jagged and unexpected. Nonetheless, little by little and with Marshall's constant, easy rubdown, the pain began to trickle off. It was like the beads of dew sliding down the windowpane, slower and slower, racing one another until they hit the sill and came to rest.

Even after she relaxed her foot and could stand with poise once more, Marshall didn't stop his efforts of manipulation. It was only when he heard her sigh that his hands came free and he blinked upward into her stressed features.

"Gone?"

Mary gulped and nodded, "Yeah, gone," mortified, as always, that she'd permitted herself to let the sting take hold of her that way. "Thanks."

With one last pat on her bones, Marshall stood, "Of course," and with a kiss to her hair to boot. "Come and sit. Take a load off."

He didn't wait for her to follow, and instead took her hand, guiding her back to the couch, where Beatrix was prowling in a circle, like she was marking a spot for Mary to park herself. She might've laughed when the animal scampered off once her colossal shadow descended on the pillows if she were in any shape to do so. Her leg felt limp and wilted, like the bones had been sapped of all their stringency. She was used to this. Eventually, the toughness returned, but 'eventually' was not now.

Mostly to avoid Marshall smothering her with some sort of touchy-feely show, Mary snatched Beatrix and cuddled her against her chest, while concurrently swinging her feet into the man's lap. He began caressing them as once.

Except for Beatrix's mewing and the drip-drop of the rain on the fresh green grass, it was quiet. Mary could almost enjoy it, if not for knowing that Marshall would shatter the stillness sooner rather than later.

"I'm really sorry this is so difficult for you, Mary."

She blew out disdainfully and almost too hurriedly to project believable nonchalance.

"Forget it. I shouldn't complain."

Marshall looked somewhat slighted, and equally befuddled, "Why's that?"

"Because, it…it's…"

How to explain? Mary didn't feel capable of stringing together a coherent sentence. Everything she said was immediately analyzed and picked apart by Marshall, mostly to make her look more righteous than she truly was. She wasn't aiming to be a martyr, someone who defamed themselves just to hear they were more dignified than their own self-weakening thoughts. In the back of her mind, Mary knew that was not even the case with her truthful response. She simply didn't fancy herself some gracious being that looked out for others above herself.

"It's like…the smallest price to pay," Mary finally settled on, keeping herself busy by stroking Beatrix. And then, so Marshall would know what she meant, "I don't care how much I have to bear so long as the kids get to come home. I don't know why I said it needed to be easier; it doesn't. It's not like I can quit while I'm ahead here," a bitter laugh.

"This is accurate," Marshall accredited. "You've been in it for the long haul. But, accepting pregnancy's small quirks doesn't mean you have to embrace them. You're allowed to be more than a little resentful toward everything that makes you cringe and grimace and keeps you from sleep. Honestly. In some ways, the amniocentesis is the least of it."

"Not by my calculations," she muttered.

Marshall left his foot massage aside for a moment and took to patting her knee lightly; between the way she was fondling Beatrix and the way he was rubbing her bruised ligaments, they were quite a machine.

"Mare, think of it this way…" she sensed a bout of wisdom coming on. "It is what it is. Come Monday morning, the twins' lungs are either developed or they aren't. The amnio is simply confirmation," he was good with conjecture. "The results put us more in the loop than we would be otherwise."

Mary shrugged, "I guess that's true. But, I just…" there was no good end to the way she tapered off; no decent account for her helter-skelter emotions. "I want them to be okay…" it frustrated her that she kept saying it the same way over and over again, ad nauseam. "I _need_ them to be okay…"

"I do too…" Marshall reciprocated, as if hoping their mutual must-have would bridge the gap.

"I don't know how else to explain it; I think way too much about the two of them ending up like Jamie and I just feel sick…"

Even as she said it, a lurching, psychedelic feeling spun in the depths of her belly, but she didn't anticipate a purge. She simply knew no other world except the one where her children died, as that had been Jamie's fate. Throwing them into harm's way so recklessly, into the path of that sharp, pointed needle seemed beyond irresponsible, regardless of whatever supposedly valuable information might come out of it in the end.

"They're mine; they're mine, I'm their mother and I'm supposed to make sure they don't get caught in the crossfire…"

Her rambling came to an abrupt end when Marshall swiftly reseated himself to the edge of the coffee table, so as to be up near her untamed, sparkling eyes. They were stunning even in their feral state; an eddy of green funnel clouds against patches of white. He flattened her golden locks and proceeded as basically as he knew how.

"You've _been_ a mother to them," he insisted quietly, still threading her hair. "They've been fine for eight long months. This is the first time there's even been a remote possibility for adversity."

He saw Mary swallow, ready to keep up her stream of horrors, but he spoke right over her.

"You need to have a little faith in yourself and have a little faith in them…" although he knew Mary's psyche was hardly built on that brand of believing, it seemed appropriate at the moment. "When they're equipped for it, they will come," not coining the kids by name. "And I have no doubt you will fight tooth and nail to keep them alive and kicking when that day presents itself."

Tired and feeling loopy from Marshall pulling the tangles out of her tresses, mesmerized by his sweet, sky-blue eyes, Mary could only blink and shake her head.

"Even if they have to sleep in a room adorned with ladybug wallpaper?"

Marshall chuckled and spared a moment to lay a slow, courageous kiss on her cheek.

"That, inspector, is something I can guarantee you do not have to worry about." Drawing an X across his chest, "Cross my heart."

XXX

**A/N: Same old stuff; a lot of it feels like filler, but I hope its good filler.**


	21. Chapter 21

**A/N: Hello, friends! I could use some good vibes tonight, so I hope if you like this chapter you'll let me know. But, if you can't, that's okay too. I understand that life gets in the way of things sometimes.**

XXX

After an uneventful Sunday, Mary's trepidation was only growing given that the amniocentesis was less than twenty-four hours away. She did everything she could to curb it, to not let it get the better of her, but it only worked half the time. Marshall always seemed to pop up whenever she was feeling particularly strung-out, ready with carefully-worded reassurances.

Mary went to bed that night not expecting to get any sleep whatsoever; as her mind was buzzing and her appendages were tingling unpleasantly. Nauseous from all her troubles, she hardly thought that slumber was an achievable target. Nonetheless, between the sprinkles that were still falling from the faded grey clouds and Marshall's restful squeezing of her back, she managed to drift off somehow.

When she came to, it was to discover that it was dark outside and the rain had definitely picked up. Marshall was asleep, and Mary found that she had somehow kicked off all her covers without realizing it. Marshall, likely inadvertently as well, had hoarded them all for himself. She often forgot how cold the house really was for someone like him, whose body was not casting off its own heat waves.

Something had stirred her besides the rain and her partner's snoring, however. After a moment's awareness, she realized it was her cell phone vibrating on the nightstand. Groping blindly, trying not to move because she was about as comfortable as she was liable to get, Mary managed to close her inflated fingers around the object and bring it – upside-down at first – to her ear.

"Yeah?" she stammered groggily, pooling most of her energy into staying on her side and not aggravating her testy back. "This is Mary."

"Mary…" the voice was somewhere between boy and man, noticeably harried but with that discrete air of someone who was trying to remain composed. "I'm really sorry I called right now. It's Tripp."

Mary came to this conclusion herself as soon as he revealed his name, thinking about how awkward it was to have the phone bent over her head like it was so it would reach her lobe. But, she hadn't thought which hand to use when grabbing and didn't have the fortitude to switch right now.

"I-I know it's late…" the boy spluttered once more, perhaps to prove just how apologetic he was.

Amidst the smattering of rain, Mary squinted at the clock blazing its red numbers about three feet away. Their blocky, crimson figures showed her it was just after two in the morning. She knew she hadn't been able to crash until well after eleven, meaning the few prized hours of snoozing she'd received had been short, and were now long gone.

Meanwhile, Marshall kept on sawing logs. It took Mary several minutes to index that there was probably a reason Tripp had phoned at this ungodly hour.

"Is something wrong?" she coughed unattractively into the speaker, but was convinced Tripp wouldn't mind. "With you, Billy, or Gretel?"

Even in her daze, she ought to have known they were the least likely of witnesses to break the rules, but one of the biggest perpetrators was still right in their own backyard.

"No, we're good," he persevered, a tremor in his voice. "My…my mom's kind of in trouble."

Mary let out a sigh none-too-quietly, one that caused a hitch in Marshall's rhythmic breathing. She evaded the fact that she'd likely woken him up, too focused on what looked like Tripp completely backtracking and coming to his mother's aid the minute she cried for help. It wasn't as though Mary hadn't done the same thing with Jinx, but even so. He'd sounded so confident in his tasks two days before. He had to have known Maureen would rebel against the situation.

"Legal trouble or just…?" rubbing one eye with her pointer finger. "General trouble?"

Tripp cut to the chase, "Well, I told you I thought she might hit the bottle – I mean, I was sort of kidding, but still…"

"Right," Mary interspersed, anxious to get to the point and back to sleep; the rain was a wonderful distracter from the customary pain that kept her from rest.

"She called me about ten minutes ago; she sounded totally drunk and wanted me to come and pick her up."

"And…what do you want me to do?" she couldn't help wondering.

"I can't go; Gretel's here with me," he justified his loyalties to his sister. "Mom doesn't answer when I call back and there's no one else to go and drive her home."

Mary was beginning to see the plight he was in, but she also sincerely hoped he did not expect her or Marshall to go out in this weather to free his disobedient mother from herself. Tripp was smarter than that and, fortunately, he proved it.

"I…I'm not asking you to check on her," his beseeching snuck through anyway. "But, do you think you could at least find out where she is and see if she called a cab? Track her cell like you do?"

The inspector rubbed her temples, feeling a headache coming on right between her eyes. She couldn't be counted upon to think so proficiently this early in the morning. Marshall gave a grunt to her right and she felt the bed sag, meaning he had rolled over. His hand pressed against her back, validating her presumption that he was awake.

"Tripp, I don't have the software here at home to pull off something like that…" it was nothing-doing, but only for Tripp would she go the extra mile. "But, I'll phone my boss and see if he can set something up – call in a favor with the police department."

"Yeah?" her witness sounded marginally hopeful. "That…that would really help me out. I even tried texting Billy, but he's staying at a friend's and he must've turned his phone off when he went to bed."

"I can ask around," she assured him, disregarding the vexed thoughts that entered her brain when she contemplated Maureen's barely grown and teenage children trying to save her ass in the middle of the night. "But, I wouldn't expect to hear anything tonight. Chalk it up to Maureen being Maureen; if there's anything to tell, we can fill you in-in the morning."

"Okay…" he still seemed optimistic, clearly glad something was being done. "Again, I'm sorry to bother you…"

"Whatever," Mary grumped, which was her staple response for a situation such as this one. "Marshall and I won't be at the office in the morning, so if you do get a call, it'll be from someone named Stan McQueen."

"Yeah…yeah, I remember Stan," he suddenly shared. "Sort of."

"Good," she concluded. "Get back to bed and go about business as usual, you hear?"

"Sure," Tripp sounded relieved, and apparently some sort of action was all he'd needed. "See you later."

Mary didn't bother with any sort of goodbye, as she usually didn't, and hit what she hoped was the stop button, as it was hard to see in the dark. Carelessly, she tossed the cell back to the night table where it banged against the wood. If Marshall hadn't been alert before, he certainly was now. In hindsight, Mary did not know why she'd discarded the phone. She was going to have to dial Stan, as promised.

"Who was that?" Marshall sounded blurry and fuzzy, like he was still caught in limbo between dead and alive.

"Tripp," Mary relayed just as languidly. "Just wants someone to look in on his mom. I guess she went out and got hammered."

"And you said you'd call Stan?" he'd been conscious for that side of the conversation and Mary nodded, although didn't take into account that he likely could not make out the gesture in the dark.

"Yeah…"

She rotated further to the right, causing a sharp, thumping kick to the ridge of her belly. Up high, she sensed activity, and she thought her son must have roused with the ringing phone as well. A series of flutters graced her abdomen when she stretched; cursing that she seemed to have cast her Blackberry clear to the other side of the table.

"I can take care of it," Marshall offered, hearing her grouse and groan.

But Mary knew it was immaterial at this point, "I'm already up." Frustrated now from not being able to reach the intended object, "Could you get the light though?" there was a lamp on his side of the bed.

"Right, duh…" Marshall drawled, sounding far more unintelligent and Neanderthal-like than what was common. "Don't know what I was thinking."

After much rustling, he managed to twist the knob and flood the bedroom with a muted yellow glow, somehow dampened by the lashing rain outside. But, it was enough of a hue for Mary to spot her cell and snatch it, but she'd now rearranged herself so much in an effort to reclaim it, that her attempts at staying relaxed were futile.

"Was there a reason Tripp was particularly high strung?' Marshall wanted facts, shimmying up against the headboard and adjusting the white T-shirt he wore as a pajama top.

"He wasn't high strung," Mary rectified, scrolling through her contacts for Stan's name. She swiveled onto her back and held the phone straight up over her eyes. "Just looking for someone to bail Maureen out since he couldn't do it," she didn't elaborate on Gretel.

"I hope she didn't do anything ill-advised," Marshall speculated, just as they were joined by Beatrix, who wiggled herself between their forms looking for attention.

Locating Stan's number at last, Mary guffawed as heartily as possible at the current hour, "Ill-advised and Maureen are basically synonyms," she quipped. "But, she gets herself out of jams eventually. Tripp's just paranoid because of this whole custody thing."

"That's a possibility," her partner concurred, scratching the cat's ears; she gave a grateful purr.

"A strong possibility," Mary batted back, as she always needed to come out on top, and took great pleasure in being right.

Marshall kept quiet for a moment while she put the cell to her ear, listening through four rings before Stan finally answered, seconds before she thought his voicemail was likely to come on. Her boss, if plausible, sounded even muzzier than Marshall, and much more disoriented to boot.

"Yeah…yes…"

There was an indistinct crash and adjoining clatter, like perhaps Stan had knocked a lamp or a clock off the table in his haste to get to the cell.

"Chief McQueen," feigning attentiveness.

Mary did her part by not laughing at his stupefaction, knowing that if she weren't six hundred pounds overweight and able to sleep like a normal person, she would be pissed if her sleep schedule was interrupted. As it was, she was so accustomed to having her drowsy spells intermingled with the feel of aliens trying to chew their way out of her tummy, a droning phone was child's play.

"Hey Stan…" she gave a breezy salutation. "Sorry, it's Mary," though he could probably guess by her voice.

"Oh…" for one brief second, he sounded relieved; he could find his bearings in a WITSEC call. But, almost instantly, he did a one-eighty and transformed into a frenzy, "Oh man…is…is it the babies? The-the kids; the kids…are the kids coming…?"

"What? No…" Mary was certainly taken aback at this resolution, but it was wildly apparent Stan was not hearing a word of it.

"I-I thought that appointment wasn't until tomorrow morning; did…did something happen…?"

This was followed by a second banging noise and the sound of shattering, and Mary felt certain Stan had broken a light bulb. She knew it was imperative she shut him down before he started getting dressed and calling people like Delia.

"Stan, chill!" his inspector barked, causing Marshall to turn his head from where he was carelessly petting Beatrix to listen curiously. "I'm fine – it has nothing to do with me!"

"Well then what?" the bald man put in a more articulate bid. "What's going on?"

"If you'd give me half a second, I could tell you," Mary shook her head disdainfully, rolling it side-to-side on her pillow.

"You sure it's nothing to do with the twins? The meeting you've got tomorrow?"

"Pretty sure," the woman claimed with a pompous manner.

After all, who would know better than she did? But regrettably, Stan's mention of the appointment a second time only reminded Mary of what was looming on the now not-so-distant horizon. Tripp's quandary had put her in a different mindset – one that she missed when she got caught up in twin-angst. For one single set of fifteen minutes since seeing Doctor Reese on Friday, her brain had not immediately gone to the amniocentesis. It had gone in protection-mode for another besides her children; witnesses had been the intended mark for safeguards for the past ten years.

Those glorious seconds when Tripp had phoned had felt like a world Mary had used to know; she'd been the old Mary; the tough, dependable, no-nonsense, fix-it-now-or-else Mary. Now that her mind had caught up, it was planted firmly on the amniocentesis and all the potential disasters in store. It surfaced ever-so-slowly, like boiling lava; a treacherous storm cloud not unlike the ones beyond the window, just six short hours away.

"So, if it's not you, then what's going on?" Stan prompted when Mary got lost in her own world.

She closed her eyes slowly and jerked her head, like she was trying to chase off a fly, or shake Beatrix when she started batting too zealously with her sharp claws.

"Oh…" her lighthearted demeanor had vanished, as though she and Stan had-had their roles reversed. Now that he was simmering down, she was climbing up. "Just um…Tripp Sullivan," she passed on quickly, feeling behind. "Do you think you could make some calls and find out where his mother is – see if she got a ride home?"

Fortunately, it appeared Stan was willing to overlook the fact that this was hardly standard protocol. Mary's weakness for Tripp coupled with liberation that the babies were not going to be making an appearance had him being more indulgent than usual.

"I…I suppose, sure," his agreement was swift once he got with the program. "Do you want me to call back with whatever I find out?"

On this, Mary declined, "Just call Tripp; I told him to expect you," after all, she was not all that worked-up about Maureen's state. "I'm just doing it to put his mind at ease."

"Okay," Stan cleared his throat, coming around more and more the longer time went by. "Anything else you need?"

"Nope…that's all…" she said it somewhat passively, but the lateness of the hour had Stan neglecting this as well.

"All right then," the man sighed, falling into the old routine at the drop of a hat. "You get some sleep, kiddo."

"Doubtful," Mary felt a reluctant smile escape just the same. "Marshall will see you late tomorrow morning."

Stan didn't need to reference the procedure explicitly to bestow well-wishes, "Good luck on that."

"Yeah, thanks."

And, as it was par for the course, Mary hung up. But, this time, she found herself palming the cell long after Stan had gone, watching the little screen flicker to black, allowing the rain to beat its way into her subconscious – a steady thump-thump-thump, much like the way her children's feet played a tempo in her belly.

As the silence elapsed, Mary assumed that Marshall must've gone back to sleep, because she couldn't see how she was keeping him awake, falling into a stupor that included nothing but what awaited at eight o'clock in the morning. But, it seemed she was wrong. Mary didn't know how long it took him to speak up, but when he did, it was with an effort to help her save face.

"I'm sure Maureen will get home safely," pretending valiantly that her glazed expression had to do with their witness. "Tripp is very dependable. He'll make sure she winds up in her bed, one way or another."

Marshall was at least intelligent enough to know that it was not Maureen she would be concerned with, but the boy and all he had to go through to ensure his mother didn't go off the deep end. By playing dumb to her true worries, he was allowing her to hoard the smallest portion of decorum she had left.

"I wish he wouldn't feel like he's gotta come to her rescue every time she gets herself wadded up in another mess," Mary stated to the blanket, not able to look at Marshall, or they'd be having yet another discussion about the amnio, which was wasted at this point; too late to back out.

"That's a hard habit to break," Marshall threw in. "You would know that better than anyone."

"That's why I hate it," she still had her eyes bored into the quilt, centering her mind on the pattern in the threads. "Maureen is still running his life, just like Jinx ran my life in her own round-about way."

Mary felt certain that if she were to turn and look at Marshall, he would be nodding in his typical dignified way. Sometimes, he was satisfied with meaningless discussion even if it was diverting from a bigger issue, so long as the tone was light and Mary didn't turn nasty in her endeavors to dodge.

"I know you don't take for granted that Jinx has managed to get her life moving in a much better direction," he went on tirelessly. "Sobriety has changed her entire existence in a hugely beneficial way."

The woman really didn't know why they were doing this, despite how understanding Marshall could be. Both of them knew what was really churning in her brain, and mention of Jinx took her right back to Friday, when this whole lung-practice had been set in motion. In her mind's-eye, she watched herself like a movie on television, bawling on her mother's shoulder as though the track had been slowed down an infinitesimal amount. Every tear paused for a microscopic second, just so Mary could relieve it sliding down her cheek, relive the agony she'd felt then at everything ahead.

And somehow, though she'd never know how, this little episode came tumbling out her mouth, even though she'd tried so hard to hide it from Marshall two days before.

"She was nice to me…" this description sounded infantile to her, and still she soldiered on. "…The other day; I was crying…"

How Marshall gleaned anything from this muddled confession was a mystery, but he was a man who liked to tunnel to the root of things.

"Jinx, you mean?" Without waiting for confirmation, "Well, I'm glad she was raring to go if you needed it," whatever that meant. "We all need to shed a few tears once in awhile."

Mary did not miss the tiniest snippet of hunger in his voice; a craving that said he was distressed that she'd dribbled those tears without him, though he was too kind to be so selfish and say it aloud. She also detected gloom in his tone that was disappointed she'd cried to begin with, just as Jinx had predicted. It was this, perhaps, that made Mary finally look at him. He didn't need to feel guilty along with everything else.

"It wasn't…" she shrugged, and Marshall was gallant enough to pretend to be interested in rearranging the twisted sheets so she wouldn't have to look him directly in the eye. "It wasn't…personal…you know. That I didn't start sobbing in front of you," speaking in disjointed, cowardly fragments.

Oddly, even as Marshall flattened their rumpled covers, he couldn't help recalling – and vividly – that he had said something quite similar to Jinx a year before when he'd disclosed that Mary had suffered the miscarriage. He had tried to explain away the blonde's need for privacy and confidentiality back then, just as she was doing now.

The realization caused him to pause in his straightening and face his partner. Anything and everything, one way or another, came back to Jamie. Mary's constant fussing and struggling circled back to that little boy she'd, in her eyes, failed to protect. Protecting another was her life blood, and although Marshall had seen far more than anyone else in those first horrendous weeks after the miscarriage, he knew he could never truly comprehend how crushed she'd been when Jamie had fallen through the cracks.

It had led them to where they were now, and while Mary might be more fulfilled to be in a relationship and expecting two children, Jamie's defeat had increased her unease tenfold. In the next, and last, few weeks of her pregnancy, she was going somewhere without him. She knew she could rely on his compassion and support but, in the end, a part of her would take the journey alone.

"Well, you know…" Marshall eventually responded after what felt like a much extended gap. "I've seen you cry before," and they both knew when. "I think I can live with not being invited to the party this time."

He gave Mary's hair a gentle pat and she declined off her elbow so her head would fall onto the pillow; there was still a dent in it from where she had lain earlier.

"It's stupid, really…" she whispered, liking the feel of the cotton on her skin. "I mean, you were my favorite guest at the party last time," meaning he was the only one whose arms she'd fallen into when she'd mourned her baby boy.

"We'll just say my invitation got lost in the mail," Marshall played right along, and he even smiled quietly, his blue eyes holding hope and a little bit of playfulness. "If you ever feel like asking me to come along to the next bash…"

They were both well-aware those tears Mary despised so fiercely might indeed spill over tomorrow if the strain got the better of her.

"You know my address," Marshall finished.

She attempted to smile back at him, as his grin was so sweet and mischievous, but she knew the line she worked onto her face was flat and forced; a thin parallel before it fell off again. Still, Marshall was more than happy to accept her college try and left his lips lingering on her forehead in return.

"I'll be right there…" he murmured, leaving the hidden phrases aside for a moment, not to mention Tripp, who had long since shifted onto the backburner. "I'll be there to catch you if you fall."

Mary knew there was a joke to be had here about what sort of splat would be made if he was being literal. Instead, she allowed herself to get sucked into his whirling, azure gaze; the eyes that mirrored the summer sky, even if it was caught in a downpour at the existing instant. It reflected their way of life only too well; they both lived for those dazzling patches of sunshine and blue, but they had to fight their way through the gale first.

"I'm gonna try…" Mary also ditched the metaphoric-speak and got down to the basics. With a gulp, "I'm gonna try really hard not to freak out…" repeating parts of her mission seemed to help. "But, I can't promise anything."

And Marshall shook his head, "No one can. Promises are a thing of the past, inspector."

As Mary took her turn at kissing his cheek before settling beneath the covers once more, she knew he was right. Yet somehow, no matter how logical she strived to be, promises were still the words of her biggest hopes and dreams. Jamie, in his own way, had been a promise – a promise that had been broken. Somehow, those most violent guarantees, no matter how foolish, still managed to prompt the vastest disappointment.

After all, her father had been big on promises too.

XXX

**A/N: I know that the end pretty much turned into more of the same, but hopefully the other heightened your interest a bit. Thank-you to all who have been kind enough to leave feedback. I appreciate any words of encouragement I get.**


	22. Chapter 22

**A/N: Thanks for all the support! Sorry I am a little late in posting!**

XXX

Mary was so jittery come sunrise that she was surprised she managed to get through her morning shower without disintegrating straight down to her knees. In fact, she threw up twice before she got around to having any breakfast, at which point she didn't think eating was the best idea. Marshall offered her all manner of foods even after she'd hurled, clearly desperate to get her to ingest something, but she turned him down. In reality, she hadn't vomited in the projectile sense she usually did; it was mostly dry heaving with gnarly stuff coming up, but it was unpleasant just the same.

The woman was plenty exhausted by the time they got to the maternity ward at the hospital, her mood only slightly improved by knowing she was the first appointment of the day, meaning they wouldn't have to wait around. A nurse showed her and Marshall to an exam room, and then left them alone without even dropping a gown in Mary's lap.

Marshall spent most of the first few minutes pacing in the tiny space, while Mary sat on the edge of the table, where her breathing sounded abnormally loud though she tried to control it. Her partner was feigning curiosity in the various posters on the walls, which depicted diverse stages of the birthing process. All the pictures made Mary squeamish and reminded her far too closely of the appointment with Doctor Wolk where she'd been informed she'd lost Jamie.

Unfortunately, there was also a mirror mounted on the wall, giving Mary quite the picture of her wan features, gaunter than usual since she'd spewed last night's dinner. She was almost green in her reflection, emanating a sort of dull jade hue underneath the harsh fluorescent lighting. Why were there so many mirrors in every doctor's office anyway? Chances were, if you were going to the doctor, you looked less than lovely, and that was how Mary looked as well as felt – less than lovely.

"Ugh…" she let her disapproval be known, almost unconsciously, turning her face from the mirror to see Marshall looking back at her.

"Problem?" he questioned coolly.

"Let me count the ways," Mary commented darkly, crackling the thin sheet of paper she sat on.

Marshall let out a nervous chuckle, "I meant at present, judging by that irate noise that came from your gullet."

Mary decided not to demand he stay away from words like 'gullet' and gave him the honest answer.

"I seem to be catching a glimpse of myself more often than I would like lately," she jerked her head at the mirror. "I look rather ghoulish."

Marshall blinked benignly, "Ghoulish is not a name I would ever use to describe you, in looks or otherwise," she ought to have known he'd say something to that effect. "It is along the lines of ghastly or morbid…"

"Morbid," Mary repeated. "That one works too."

Still, he looked entirely flummoxed that she would view herself in such a negative light, "What are you talking about? You're beautiful."

From the silky, sinuous look to her skin, to the golden, honey tint to her flowing, fair waves of hair, cascading, bouncing effortlessly down her back. Right up to the dark, deep green of her eyes, so calculating and probing, even in their fear; she was nothing short of stunning under Marshall's scrutiny. All that wasn't counting the fact that he had always found pregnant women to have a certain corporeal quality that other women lacked; Mary was that much more enticing with just one child. With two, he didn't even know how he held back most days.

But Mary herself, in spite of Marshall's awe in her curves, just gave a cynical laugh at being called 'beautiful.' It was shaky, almost compulsory in a solid stab at preserving her poise.

"You're looking through the wrong end of the telescope, doofus," she shook her head. "Or else you're a watt low from lack-of-sleep. 'Beautiful' is on the opposite end of the spectrum."

At this, her partner slunk over to her, ready to place his hands upon her shoulders.

"Not from where I'm sitting."

The minute both palms landed on either side of her face, Mary forgot where she was. She forgot what was coming and how the trauma of it had driven her to toss her cookies. All she saw was Marshall; she saw a man who loved her – stating it notwithstanding. He was a man who adored her not in spite of her rounded glory and chipmunk, moon-faced cheeks, but because of it. Because really, who else but Marshall could make her believe he envisioned her some adorable, paunchy sprite of her formal self in too-small jeans?

Kissing him once and allowing his lips to balloon against hers, Mary basked in her temporarily poor memory, "You're a filthy rotten liar…" though she didn't really think so. "But, I'll take it…"

Just as Marshall was about to return the smooch, however, a sharp, rapping knock tore them from their illicit, early morning embrace. Marshall skittered backward on the linoleum and Mary crunched the sheet a second time. As though she'd been pitched off the edge of a cliff, her current location returned in full-force; a cruel demon interrupting the warm moment with her man. All affection was sapped from the room as quickly as someone flipping a switch.

"Well, good morning!" a jolly voice greeted the two of them, but it was not a voice Mary recognized.

Gaping slightly, sure she looked idiotic, the woman found herself face-to-face with a male physician she did not know. He was tall, almost as tall as Marshall, but much burlier, like he spent his off-hours lifting weights. If asked to guess, Mary would peg him to be in his early forties, but he had a young, juvenile sort of face, clean-shaven, that could easily pass him as ten years younger.

Quickly, she tried to get over her shock at having to make nice with this stranger, all the reasons for his appearance traveling at super-speed to the front of her mind. Doctor Reese must be indisposed.

"Doctor Abbott," the man in question introduced himself, sticking out his hand to Mary once he pocketed the pen he'd been holding. "Mary Shannon, I presume?"

"Uh…yeah…" she tripped over her salutation, stealing glances at Marshall while having her hand wrung up and down at the same time. "Where is um…?" clearing her throat unnecessarily, which sounded raucous and echoing. "Where's Doctor Reese?"

"Ah, she had a delivery to attend to this morning," he swept this aside as though it was nothing, but it was certainly something to Mary, who had not banked on having to weave through the procedure with an outsider. "But, rest assured ma'am, I've performed many an amniocentesis in my time," he consulted his clipboard briefly. "You and your babies are well in hand."

Mary didn't care how many times he'd been through the amnio process. She didn't care if he was the most-acclaimed doctor in the state. She didn't know him and he sure did not know her, nor did he realize what sort of hell she would raise if her and the twins were treated at all flippantly. Doctor Reese wasn't exactly her favorite person – she much preferred Doctor Wolk, in some ways – but at least she was familiar with the inspector's pronounced obsession with her children. This imposter had no such experience.

When she just sat there, however, and her fingers went limp inside his, he seemed to take it for granted that she had nothing to contribute. Marshall's eyes were skirting left to right, and Mary could've sworn his nails twitched to his breast pocket where his cell phone was, but he abstained from 'calling in a favor.'

"Do you have any questions before we get started?" Doctor Abbott powered on swimmingly. "My reports here say we just complete the amnio and get out of your hair; sounds like you're already up to speed, but just in case…" his tone tapered off, waiting for Mary to pick up the slack.

She didn't know what to say, as there was only one thought on her mind; her brain was jammed with that single entity and it came trickling out before she could stop it.

"Doctor Reese isn't coming back?"

Marshall obviously saw this as his cue to step a little closer. He slung an arm around her shoulder, but she barely chronicled that he was even in the room, let alone initiating contact.

"I'm afraid not," Doctor Abbott said with a semi-sympathetic smile. "But, trust me ma'am…" she wished he would quit calling her that; it made her sound old. "I would not have been called in if I didn't have the knowledge required here…"

Mary cut him off almost at once, "You've done this with twins before?"

In truth, she did not even know if Doctor Reese had done an amnio on twins before, but that didn't cross her mind.

The physician nodded plainly, starting to catch on that he had a high-maintenance patient.

"Yes," he declared. And then, before she could pounce a third time, "I seem to have missed one of your forms from the front desk though. Let me just grab it, snag a nurse, and we'll get this knocked out." He was already halfway to the door as he said all this, "You can go ahead and lie down on the table. I'll be right back."

His hand found the knob before Mary burst out again, feeling agitated, sweaty, and at a complete loss, like she'd been thrown a curveball. No one had said she'd end up with some unknown doctor, but now she felt stupid for not having expected it. Outside of general appointments, she knew how rare it was to wind up with your own practitioner in most cases, delivery among them.

"I…don't I need a gown?"

She felt Marshall squeeze her shoulder hard while Doctor Abbott shook his head.

"Nope. Pulling your shirt up will do just fine for this one." Opening the door, "Try to relax. I won't be long."

And without further ado, he disappeared, leaving Mary rickety and stricken with a whole new set of doubts. Her inhales and exhales were magnified once more, like she had a microphone underneath her chin and her anxiety was being broadcast for the whole world to hear. Fortunately, in reality, the whole world consisted only of Marshall right now. But before he could console her, she took off running.

"What are they thinking? What are they doing – saddling me with this quack?" each word was marred by husky gasps. "We don't know anything about him; how can they expect me to just…?"

Marshall slipped in as soon as he saw an opening, "Slow it down now…" toying with her hair, as Jinx often did. "They're gonna need you calm or they won't be able to get this done…"

"I don't _want_ it done!" Mary hissed, fighting the urge to beat Marshall's hand away from her head. "This was not in the cards!"

"I know," Marshall acknowledged. "But, I'm sure this guy is highly qualified; he probably has credentials to rival most…"

"You don't know that!"

"I don't," he agreed, as he knew what was good for him. "But, I am sure you can buck up and go with the flow. I believe in you, partner."

But, right now, Mary did not believe in _herself_. She was aware that, in the grand scheme of things, this was a very small change in the plan, but her emotional mind-set was so delicate these days that those tiny things were the ones that set her off. Her heart seemed to be beating unnaturally fast, like she was about to have a stroke. She hated how instantly she became hot and itchy at any sign of perceived danger. There really was no point to taking a shower anymore.

Marshall, seeing that Mary was not mellowing out, donated a swift, sideways hug to try and help her along, wrapping his arms around her shoulders from her profile.

"You're so close," he muttered confidently. "Don't allow this replacement to knock you down. He can't shake your spirit unless you let him."

He thought about adding that Doctor Abbott had seemed nice, but decided against it, knowing this would be of no value to Mary. As it was, he seemed to have hit the right triad of phrases anyway; Mary hated to crumple because another had thrown her for a loop, and he had reminded her she was capable of maintaining serenity. She could rely on Marshall as well as herself for that.

"Come on…" he nudged away, poking her to carry on because he knew they didn't have much time before the doctor and nurses returned. "Lie down. I'll help you with your shirt…"

Mary groaned, but knew she would have to do what he said; regardless of her behavior minutes before, she really did not want to look hysterical in front of Doctor Abbott. And so, she reclined onto the hard surface, perfectly parallel to the ground, which about killed her back. She could've sworn someone was piercing her spine with knives, and Marshall spotted her agony at once.

"Surely there's a pillow around here somewhere…"

Though it was visible there was not. The room was small and there was only one chair; no place for a pillow to hide, unless it was locked up in one of the cabinets.

"It…it's okay…" Mary lied, gnawing on her thumbnail as she said it.

"Well, I'll ask when they get back," Marshall persevered. "Let's get your shirt…"

A distant voice in the back of Mary's head screamed that she didn't need assistance rolling up her clothes, but it was silenced by her paramount apprehension, escalating in a flash. She was numb to Marshall's movements, and he could detect in her eyes the same look she had-had the night before. She was transitioning to that place that didn't include him; the place where she would brave the winds alone.

Marshall wasn't offended now that he understood it a little better, though Mary had never explained it to him; he wasn't sure she knew she was going 'there' herself. It was a spontaneous effect; a result of being the woman. One part of her brain placed her in a camp where Marshall could not follow.

"Is that good?" he probed neutrally; he'd bunched her tent of a shirt up under her breasts, just barely concealing her gargantuan bra. "Comfortable enough?"

"Yeah…" Mary tried to nod, but found she couldn't from her horizontal position. "Enough."

Marshall stationed himself above her head, so she was looking at him upside-down, and she had a sudden vision of his face floating the same way right before she'd had the D and C a year ago. She felt much the same as she had on that occasion – raw, exposed, and above all, almost entirely lost. The only difference was that she'd been freezing in that operating room whereas these days, she practically didn't remember what it was like to feel remotely cold at all.

"If there's anything I'm doing that you don't like or anything you wish I would do…" Marshall inclined his head toward the bulge. "While they're working, I mean," turning his sentence around. "Don't be shy. Speak up. You are very talented in that area," an overturned smile that looked like a frown from Mary's vantage point.

"I…I don't know what I want you to do," she divulged, her tone empty and hushed. "I trust you to figure it out."

Marshall's hand rose and flattened her hair, sweeping it off her forehead. The limb looked like it was acting of its own accord, without an arm to anchor it, when Mary had to watch it suspended in reverse.

"Then I'll act as I see fit," the man announced proudly, but they were the last personal words he would speak for the duration of the appointment, because the door reopened and a nurse entered.

Mary barely saw her, because she seemed to be falling into some alternate universe, like her life was flashing before her eyes. She knew since she'd found out that the amnio was the best course of action that she'd been highly dramatic, but it was too late to turn back now. She was locked, virtually trapped by her own devils; her own worst fears. There were only two things she could concentrate on to stay grounded: breathing and Marshall.

"Hello Miss Shannon…" the nurse's voice sounded far away and remote, like she was down in a barrel. "My name is Cara; I'm going to be helping Doctor Abbott with the ultrasound today."

Somewhere in the recesses of her mind, Mary indexed that this girl was cheerful without being overbearing, which she might appreciate during a different day and time. Further away still, she heard Marshall give a response to Cara's address, which saved her the trouble.

Breathe. Breathe. In and out. That's what Marshall would say. In and out.

"You wouldn't happen to have a pillow on hand, would you?"

There was her partner, advocating for her. Out of the corner of her eye, Mary saw the nurse nod and reply, then bend down and pull a pillow from a lower cupboard. Marshall took it with a thank-you and slipped it under Mary's neck to spare her back undue strain. Mary felt neither relief nor impending injury. She felt nothing at all but dread.

In a matter of moments, Doctor Abbott returned with about ten forms fluttering beneath the clamp on his clipboard. He alone seemed glad that his patient had internalized whatever reservations she had. His nurse was already halfway through assembling the ultrasound machine, unwinding the wand, ready to administer the gel.

"All right Miss Shannon, here's how this will go…" Doctor Abbott instructed, very businesslike. "We'll use the ultrasound to locate a pocket of fluid a considerable distance from one of your babies; the amniocentesis will be performed with complete guidance of the ultrasound…"

Marshall had told her as much. Mary was glad she didn't have to listen.

"…And we'll use the needle to withdraw the fluid. Doctor Reese advised that we only test one of the babies, and if he or she shows mature lung development, you all can cross that bridge and decide if further testing is necessary."

Had Mary been more aware, she would've heckled the notion she might be expected to go through this song and dance all over again, on a different day, with a second baby. As it was, she could only zero in on the here and now, which was probably lucky. It was doubtful she could take much else on her plate.

Doctor Abbott's spiel had taken long enough that Cara had commenced in materializing a picture on the ultrasound monitor. Mary had not even recoiled at the coolness of the gel on her bare skin. She hadn't even noticed it.

"Okay…let's see what we've got here…"

And with no further coaching, the physician took the wand from his nurse and began to rotate it back and forth on her belly. Mary thought surely she was dangling in limbo, somewhere between bursting into tears and blowing the roof off the office with anger. She was embarrassed about the way they all stared at her. She was afraid to look at the screen and see the splotches that were her children, for fear of being too emotionally-charged by those splotches. She was pissed she was having to deal with this without a doctor she was used to. She was a bundle of nerves in the worst possible way.

Marshall didn't know what was happening with his girl, but wherever that otherworld was, she was definitely inside it. Her eyes were closed, and she was breathing hard and fast, but for some reason he thought he must be the only one who could hear it. He decided to move from the top of her head to her side, so they wouldn't have to look at each other upside-down, if and when Mary decided to ease open her lids.

Something in the doctor's next words did the trick, however.

"Oh good…" he remarked pleasantly. "There's a pouch right here…" circling a spot on the screen that only Marshall saw. "It's a nice stretch away from both babies, but it'll be taken from the male."

Mary did not know how she was supposed to react to this. So it was her son who was being put on the chopping block? It was her son who would suffer whatever fate befell him in the aftermath? She knew neither child was safe if her body went whole hog and rippled into premature labor, but even so. She hated the idea that she was choosing one kid as the guinea pig over the other.

"That sounds fine," Marshall contributed when the blonde said nothing. "You would know better than we would."

Doctor Abbott chortled, "You flatter me, sir." And then, "Keep that steady for me Cara; let me just get prepped…"

And then Mary knew. She knew when he shifted the baton into his assistant's hand and wandered over to the counter with his back turned that the minutes were dwindling. They were shrinking down to nothingness. The moment was all-but upon her. When he turned around, he would be wielding that needle; the needle that had danced and spun itself, shiny and glimmering through her nightmares for the past three days.

She was caught in a whirlwind. She wanted her mother. Jinx would be stifling her with care. Jinx would also be making her infinitely more nervous. She didn't want her mother. Maybe Brandi. Brandi would be so cavalier it would be hard to locate the hazard in the situation. On the other hand, Brandi's careless demeanor would be obnoxious so no, her sister wouldn't help either. Well then, Stan. Stan was kind and genial. Stan was also a basket case when it came to pregnancy. Not Stan.

Who was left? Who could extract the growing, poisonous panic cloaking Mary at this very moment? Not Jinx, Brandi, or Stan. What about Mark? Delia? Seth? Her father?

Her father. In a past life, he would be the candidate. He would kiss her tears and troubles away. How she yearned for her father. She missed him terribly in moments like these.

"Okay Miss Shannon, looks like we're ready to go…"

No. No. She was not ready. Why was that man coming this way? What was in his hand? Her back hurt. Her neck was sore. Her ankles pulsated. She was going to be sick. She couldn't do this now.

As Doctor Abbott approached her belly, she knew her rasping wheezes of air could be heard by one and all. Her eyes were fully open now, taking in every sight and sound; every prickle on her skin; the smell of alcohol wafted up her nostrils and almost gagged her.

"Try to relax…" Cara suggested soothingly, unaware Doctor Abbott had said the same thing when he'd exited the room the first time. "Nice even breaths."

Mary ignored her and turned to Marshall – her one last, shining ray of hope. The light was dim and flickering, near black, but there he stood, steady and tall by her side. She was wild-eyed even though, otherwise, she appeared almost the picture of calm. There was a lot raging within, and Marshall was the only one who could see it firing back and forth.

"Take my hand," he said quietly.

Without hesitation, because acting was better than not, Mary pulled his fingers into hers, lifting them level with her eyes. His were entwined tightly inside hers, the knuckles on her own turning white even though she wasn't gripping yet. Interlocked, hanging, held up by more than strength, but by devotion. By love.

"Breathe deep if you would, ma'am…"

Mary choked that out as best she could, heart pounding against her ribcage, longing to be set free.

"And on three you should just feel a prick and some pressure…"

She shut her eyes. She cried for help.

"One…"

Don't count. Stop counting.

"Two…"

A kiss landed on her forehead through the shadows.

"Three."

Initially, Mary felt nothing, and yet instinct had her pulling like a vice grip on Marshall's fingers, squeezing like her life depended on it. The greater the pressure in her abdomen, the harder she squeezed, her nails digging in, biting his skin. It made her feel better. It gave her something to focus on, and Marshall was courageous enough not to press back; he let her break every blood vessel in his hand without even flinching.

Quiet awe erupted in the pit of Mary's stomach; there was pressure on her tummy, just as she'd been warned, but nothing else. She'd felt certain that if she hurt, then the babies must as well. As it was, she could barely ascertain much at all, and was on the verge of opening her eyes when it happened.

The pain struck, and Mary's anxiety took off in a fleet. The ache wasn't even that bad, especially not compared to all her other twinges, but it was like a bell going off. What if he'd hit something? What if he'd poked one of the babies? Could they, at this very second, be forming an uprising, shifting toward the birth canal, ready to be born, lungs or no lungs?

It took all her strength not to scream for Doctor Abbott to stop, especially when the cramping persisted. But, a pitiful, weepy noise escaped her mouth just the same.

"No…"

With a cringe, she felt tears ooze from her eyes, and though they simply welled in the corners, she felt betrayed nonetheless. She'd been so close.

"Shh…you're almost there…" Marshall's voice was a whisper from above.

"My apologies Miss Shannon, sometimes there's a little discomfort, but it's nothing to worry about…"

Please stop. Please just stop. She was done. She couldn't do this anymore. She was so tired from trying to hold it together; all her muscles were rigid from being balled so tightly. She longed for these people to leave. She wanted Marshall. She wanted to go home.

"Breathe…" her partner beseeched her again, but this time, it was moot.

"There we are!" Doctor Abbott publicized triumphantly. "All done. Let's just take a quick look at the ultrasound…"

The declaration seemed to reach Mary in slow motion. Done. Done. It was over.

Slowly, she opened her eyes and relinquished her death grip on Marshall's hand. The lights beating above her seemed harshly bright and blinding since her materialization from her cocoon. The needle had vanished; she couldn't even see the fluid Doctor Abbott had taken, though she wasn't sure she wanted to. He and Cara were examining the movements of the babies on the sonogram, flipping a switch to hear their heartbeats. She registered, somewhere in her fog, that they were analyzing the twins to make sure they had held up well.

"Everything looks fine…" the physician reported, and Cara began dismantling the contraption at his approval. "I'll just say take it easy for the rest of the day…"

"She plans to," Marshall interjected, and his input seemed nearer to Mary now.

"Good," the other man gave his support. "Someone from Doctor Reese's office will call tomorrow with the results. Usually, it can take up to two weeks to have the fluid analyzed, but given your situation…" meaning that Mary was slated for delivery sooner rather than later. "Doctor Reese decided to put a rush on things."

"Thanks so much," Marshall conversed again, as Mary didn't seem up to speaking.

"Then, you are free to leave as soon as you're ready, Miss Shannon," Doctor Abbott advised. "Have a great day."

Marshall expressed his gratitude one more time before the doctor took his nurse and both left the room together.

The space felt vast and wide in their absence. Mary was still trying to wrap her brain around the fact that it was over. Here she'd driven herself to the brink and it had taken all of five minutes. Minus that one little hiccup, which she was sure to obsesses over in the days to come; everything seemed to have progressed very well.

Still, she inhaled and exhaled rather rapidly, her eyes burning from unshed tears, her cheeks flushed and blotchy. She was still a nut, no two ways about it. And evidently, her appearance, rather than her slow acceptance of the outcome was Marshall's primary concern. He lifted her fingers as well as his all-but severed ones and pressed them to his lips, kissing the knuckles.

"You did it, partner," he praised with a soft smile. "Nice job. I'm proud of you."

Mary found it in her to nod, gulping and swallowing down her emotions. Her chest hurt from all the heavy breathing she'd engaged in. Come to think of it, her stomach hurt too; there was a low, dull cramp still coursing through her belly. It was the same throb she'd felt when the needle had struck too deep.

"You all right?" Marshall asked when he received no response; he fluttered down upon her temple this time. "That deer-in-the-headlights look doesn't inspire a ton of confidence," striving for a joke.

"No, I…I'm okay…" Mary croaked unconvincingly. "Just…a little sore."

She was trembling too, she suddenly realized. She'd released the hold she'd been enforcing on her bones, and the result of dropping the strain was weak and quivering limbs. She was limp all over, like her frame had wilted.

"Yeah, you might have some additional aches and pains for a few days," Marshall confirmed. "Are you okay otherwise?" his long pointer finger wavered underneath one of her eyelids, like he was dying to dry her tears. "It seemed like it got a little tight there at the end."

Mary knew he was referring to her minimal, pathetic outburst and she could only shrug, taking care to push her shirt back down now that the procedure was through.

"Just got caught off guard," she explained it away. "I was worried about the kids."

Marshall bobbed his head in understanding, "Of course."

What else did she do these days but worry about the kids? Marshall had to wonder if her terror would decrease at all once the twins were born, or if it would only rocket to the moon.

"Well…" he began, all pertinent questions answered. "Looks like we are good to go when you are. I'd stay home with you for awhile, but I had about a dozen messages on my phone from Stan; looks like something is up at the office."

Mary's brow furrowed as she took the leisurely route off the table, sitting up slowly and feeling her back pop in the process. She allowed her legs to dangle over the edge for a minute or two, just to ensure she wouldn't tip over once she was upright. She passed the time by provoking Marshall into detail about Stan's dialing finger.

"He didn't say what he needed?" she wanted to know, finding this rather odd. "Not a clue?"

"He just mentioned it wasn't an emergency – urgent, but not an emergency."

That phrasing sounded familiar, and Mary realized it was the same combination of words Tripp had used when he'd wanted to talk to her about his custody battle. For some reason, this made her antsy, as the news from her favorite witness' end had been none too pleasant on that occasion just a week ago.

"It's not another rough and ready baby shower, is it?"

Marshall grinned, "I doubt it. But, nice to see your sense of humor has returned in full force."

"If only for a little while," Mary agreed, but glad he'd noticed just the same. "I think it's time to blow this pop stand."

Marshall held out his hand and she spotted the rings of white she'd left on his flesh; the reddened streaks where she'd clutched the life out of his fingers. He really did love her.

And when he hoisted her up, he couldn't help but smirk, "After you, inspector."

XXX

**A/N: This chapter was definitely supposed to create a little bit of tension, but hopefully nothing too nerve-wracking. Mary can be a drama queen in her own way sometimes. ;) **


	23. Chapter 23

**A/N: So many catch-up reviews! I do love reading those!**

XXX

Mary did not have a lot of time to bask in sailing through the amniocentesis mostly with flying colors, considering there would be results to wring her hands over in the hours to come. That didn't mean she wasn't going to try to make the most of it though. Even Marshall sending her home to put her feet up and lie in bed all day didn't dampen her spirits, nor did him asking Jinx to sit with her.

True, she did get a little crotchety when her mother went into helicopter-mode and started hovering non-stop trying to tend to her daughter, but it was a bee sting in Mary's eyes. She had the conception there was more than just her mother beyond the bedroom door, in the form of painters and movers to get cracking on the nursery, but she didn't ask. Instead, she whiled away the morning fending off Jinx for sport and browsing a baby name book Brandi had dropped off. Before now, she hadn't felt up to searching for monikers.

Yet, like Mary had told Marshall, no names she came across seemed to match; they all lacked that deeper meaning she was striving for. Still, she could not deny that it was becoming increasingly difficult to pin down a person she would even remotely consider donning her children after. She loved Stan and Seth, even her mother and sister when they weren't being impossible, but there was no amount of money you could pay her to title her daughter 'Jinx.' 'Stanley' was far too old school, despite her fondness for her boss.

And, in thinking about Stan, Mary's mind seemed to summon him directly to the house just after lunch. She was still in the bedroom, and so she didn't hear the knock on the door. In any case, Jinx was puttering around in the kitchen, and would greet the caller for her. It was only when her mother rapped on the hatch to her quarters that she realized she had a visitor.

Jinx entered without waiting for Mary to shout, 'come in,' but only stuck her head halfway through the frame.

"Mary honey?"

Her daughter's eyes flickered upward from where she had diverted her attentions to an influx of e-mails on her phone. Jinx looked like she had no torso when she didn't come in all the way.

"What?"

"Stan's here; he wants to talk to you," the brunette conveyed in a soft voice, as though Mary had taken ill. She wasn't exactly tip-top, but considering the circumstances, she was feeling better than ever, trying to ignore the gnawing ache still waving through her midsection. "Are you up for that?"

"Mom, it's not like I'm in hospice or anything," Mary snarked. "Tell Stan to come in," though she couldn't imagine what he needed so badly that he would come all the way out to the house; it unsettled her, especially given that Marshall was still at work.

Jinx stepped aside, revealing her entire form, and Stan appeared behind her as though from thin air. He looked as he always did – the grey suit, the maroon tie, the shiny black shoes. At the moment, his hands were stuffed in his pockets, though he pulled one out to wave it as he stepped over the threshold. She was glad he'd not left his jacket in the car, as she was still keeping the house rather frosty. Jinx was wearing a bulky sweater over her hip summer ensemble.

"Stan the man…" Mary announced, sitting up a little against her pillows so she would not look like the invalid she envisioned herself to be. "What brings you?"

"Hey…" he spared a minute to be casual. "Just a…work thing," a shifty glance at Jinx. "You think we could have a second?"

"Sure," Mary replied, not endeared to the way her mother was playing dumb, as if she was going to be allowed to be privy to whatever this conversation entailed. "Mom, beat it," she tried to smirk after the fact, so as not to look overly dismissive.

Fortunately, Jinx giggled, "Right. Can I get you anything before I go, Stan?" she gestured toward the kitchen. "A drink or a snack?"

"No, I just finished lunch, but thanks," Stan turned her down. "I shouldn't be long. I didn't want to disturb anybody; Marshall told me how Mary needs to stay under the radar today…"

"Well, she's done pretty well so far," Jinx contributed with a matronly simper, at which point Mary herself couldn't hold her tongue.

"I just _love_ how you're both talking about me like I'm not even here," she rolled her eyes and dripped with sarcasm. "Like I'm, you know, incapacitated or in a coma."

Jinx gave another titter as Stan chuckled nervously. They stood awkwardly for a minute, just staring at one another and trying to smile, which definitely tested Mary's patience. Jinx finally took the hint and began to back toward the living room to give the inspector and her boss their much-needed privacy.

"I'll be out here if anyone needs me…" the older woman reminded them, and Mary knew she sincerely hoped they would come running.

"No listening with your ear pressed to the keyhole, mom," Mary called, trying to sound funny but definitely serious. "Honestly."

Jinx blinked and nodded, "Of course dear."

With that, she saw herself back into the rest of the house, leaving Stan to enter the bedroom and shut the door behind him.

As the chief approached the bed, Mary couldn't help feeling that this whole scenario seemed rather odd. She could only think of one time Stan had even been to her house, which had been after her abduction, to fill her in on Brandi's legal drama. This didn't prompt any sort of alleviation from the woman's end, hoping fanatically that whatever he wanted was nothing that bad. He eased himself onto the edge of the mattress while Mary continued to try and wiggle upward, as she'd slipped back down on her first attempt due to her critical mass.

"So…what's going on?" she asked to distract from her unsightly squirming. "It was so important you had to come to my hovel and endure my mother's loitering? Seriously, she's got her eye pasted to the gap under the door right now."

Again, Stan gave an uneasy chortle and twiddled his thumbs, but said nothing. He even glanced around the room at random before Mary goaded him into speech.

"Today is not a good one for hem-and-haw, Stan, so spit it out."

Knowing how Mary could be when she got aggravated, Stan at least managed to find something to utter, even if it was not the reason he had come knocking.

"How did it go this morning?" he inquired, though he seemed to want an answer to this question even less than he wanted to release why he'd really dropped in. "No problems, I hope?"

"You can't seriously expect me to believe that Marshall didn't give you every waking, boring detail when he showed up at the office earlier," she hunched her eyebrows suspiciously. "It was fine – nerve-wracking as hell, but fine. Now, what do you want?" she demanded. "I will kick you out if you don't fess up."

"Right…" Stan knew this to be true from past experience with Mary; knew his time was diminishing.

Mary willed herself to be even minimally patient while the man beat around the bush for another moment or two. He was definitely starting to make her wary, and as she was so familiar with the emotion these days, it wasn't hard to discern that she didn't like it. She had a sixth-sense when it came to bad news, and right now she could smell a rat. Whether or not it was as theatrical as Stan was making it out to be remained to be seen.

"I guess I'll just be straight with you…" he started frankly.

"Sometime this year, maybe…"

But then, "Mary, you had a witness die. I got the call last night and I spoke to Marshall about it this morning."

Mary was certainly taken aback, and she suddenly remembered Marshall saying as they'd left the hospital that Stan had placed a great many messages on his phone. Bewildered she might be, but she was almost relieved in some ways. She cared for a handful of her witnesses in the unique way that she cared about anyone, but she'd been starting to think it was more personal than that. She just hoped it wasn't anybody young – a child or a teenager, who were always more apt to violate the rules.

"How?" Mary wanted to know, the Marshal in her mind who wanted statistics rearing its head. "Was it a breach? Do we need to be concerned about relocation?"

"It wasn't a breach," Stan shook his head. "But relocation might still be a factor, actually."

This time, he was the one who narrowed his brows, scrunching his deep brown eyes closer to his nose. Mary knew what this face on him meant, but she'd wanted to give herself time to prepare; time to be stoic when she learned whoever it was that they'd lost. That was why she'd asked the nature of the death first, though Stan hadn't said yet.

"Well, if it wasn't a breach then what happened?"

Now Stan sighed, but he didn't waste any more time, "A drunk driving accident, around 2:30 this morning. The car spun off the road into a guardrail and down a ditch. As I understand, the driver was ejected from the car – pronounced dead at the scene."

But, as soon as Stan had said 'drunk driving' Mary had a flash to a rainstorm and a ringing cell phone; a young man's voice trying to reign in his pleading for his mother. At first, there was a jolt and an electrical shock seemed to current through her chest and into her heart, scaring herself into thinking it had been that young man who had been killed, but logistics kicked in when her mind caught up.

It wasn't Tripp.

Mary blinked slowly, allowing her eyes to rest for a moment, before she showed Stan she'd solved the puzzle.

"Maureen?"

And she knew from his face that there was no pretending; there was too much sympathy in his darkened gaze. And with a slow nod, he sealed the deal.

"Yes," he confirmed. "With a wreck that violent, I don't know how she stood a chance, and she had the storm to contend with too," not to mention a sky-high blood alcohol level. "Forensics doesn't even know if she was wearing her seatbelt."

Mary didn't immediately distinguish why she felt the strokes of sadness and tragedy that seeped little-by-little into her chest, replacing the shock against her heart. She wasn't heartless, and so she expected to experience some degree of unhappiness at the news, but she couldn't figure out why it seemed to sink in so quickly – why she felt like crying, though she doubted she would; why she had the sudden urge to hug Stan, as people did when a loved one died.

It could be her hormones, but the longer Mary sat silent, absorbing the blow, the more the grief turned to empathy and, much deeper, to pity. Maureen had been taken in an awful, disastrous manner, and it had, unfortunately, been her own doing. But, it was for Tripp that she mourned. She'd known Tripp upwards of five years now, had watched him grow from a withdrawn teenager to a conscientious young man. Where would he go now? What would happen to him – to Billy and Gretel? Like a stone had fallen straight into her stomach, she realized now that he was going to have custody of his siblings by default – a heartbreaking, brutal turn of events from his original plan.

"Mary?" Stan eventually spurred on when the woman had been quiet for several minutes. "Is it okay that I came and told you this? I mean, with everything else you have going on and what you went through this morning…" he shrugged. "Maybe I should've just had Marshall deal with it…"

At this, she snapped back to reality, "No," she refuted. "No, I'm glad you told me," reinforcing the point. "I just…" she worked to explain why she'd spaced out, the only sound the whirring of the fan overhead. "Those kids…"

Evidently, she didn't need to say anymore. Stan nodded soberly, taking the fact that she was acting very humane as invitation to scoot a little closer on the bed.

"I know that Tripp is very dear to you…"

"Well, you don't have to say it like _that_," Mary griped, but Stan brushed her aside.

"He's going to have a lot to handle in the days to come," he moved onward. "And, with you preparing to raise two youngsters of your own, someone will need to take over his case."

It suddenly dawned on Mary why Stan had reported to her home, of all places, to deliver this information. Relinquishing control was not his inspector's strong suit, but they both knew it was a necessary evil in this case. The timing was bad, but as Marshall had said to Peter, planning for babies was almost of no consequence. Inevitably, there was always going to be an inconvenient period to draw upon, an excuse for why parenthood wouldn't work – summer, fall, winter, and spring. Rearranging had to become second nature.

"I know it sounds premature, kiddo," Stan continued. "Especially with Maureen only having been gone twelve hours, but you know the business of WITSEC; we have to move as soon as we can," Mary was well-aware. "We'll have to contend with her will, if we're able to just move Gretel in with Tripp or if we need to contact another family member; D.C. is going to be up in arms about this situation because there are minors involved and Tripp's already on their radar because of the custody thing…"

"Well, they won't have to worry about that now," Mary grumbled sardonically. "Does he even know yet?"

The chief shook his head, "No. And…"

A part of him appeared hesitant, but he didn't balk for long, for which Mary was grateful.

"Someone needs to tell him."

She knew where this was headed, but was thunderstruck she was being given clearance.

"I spoke to Marshall, and we both agreed it should be you. He thinks you'll be okay going out for an hour or so – that you and the kids should hold up."

While Mary could barely abide being discussed like someone who was going to deteriorate into ten million pieces if she just got out of bed, being given permission to leave was enough to make her overlook the mollycoddling.

With an exhale, "Thanks. I mean, I don't fancy myself some sort of mentor to Tripp but…"

"But, who else does he have?" Stan reminded her.

And with a sadistic plunge of all her intestines, Mary saw a teenage boy sitting at his kitchen table, his eyes forlorn and defeated. She saw a high school kid willing to give up his life, willing to forgo his entire existence just to keep his brother and sister from harm, just to give his mother someone to come home to. Fatherless, friendless, and alone, but for…

"_It's different because I have you."_

Mary took care to gulp past an unexpected cascade of emotion, not wishing to start sobbing in front of Stan.

"I…I guess that's true," she replied to his statement. "Sooner's better than later on this, right? I suppose I need to call Tripp and have him meet me at Maureen's place."

She was already reaching for her phone, bending bones and muscles that had been stationary all day; they seemed to shriek in objection, having liked Mary being wise enough to stay off her feet, as though they had a mind of their own. She knew it was crucial that she ignore their pleas today; this was an extenuating circumstance, and if Marshall had given his say-so, there wasn't going to be anything holding her back.

But, just as she palmed her Blackberry, Stan extended his fingers in a gesture of halt.

"Hang on a second; let me ask you a few things first."

At his request, she waited, but it wasn't because she wanted to. Now that she had the information, she wasn't keen to hoard it. Each second that passed was one more second she was keeping Maureen's death from Tripp. Just that statement tracking in her mind was surreal. She'd just seen the woman a few days before. The fact that she was gone forever did not seem to have recorded in her brain yet.

"What?" Mary nodded to allow Stan admittance.

"Do you want to go the whole nine yards and drop this blow on Billy and Gretel too?" he proposed cautiously. "Marshall or I can do that, or if you think Tripp is in any shape to do it once he knows, I suppose that would be okay…"

Mary didn't take the final view as very fair, "I don't want to ask Tripp to do that, but I don't want to tell them all together either – I feel like he needs to know first."

"Right," Stan seemed to agree.

"I guess you and Marshall can arrange a time with the other kids while I'm talking to Tripp…"

She covered her face with her hands just thinking about everything ahead, but knew that regardless of Stan backing down when it came to passing the case to another inspector, that it was still firmly on his mind. Maureen's death might be the last conquest she would take before the twins were born. Delia or her new partner, nameless and faceless at the moment, would take over. It made her feel like she was abandoning Tripp, and when he'd just lost his mother too.

"We can do that," Stan picked up the slack, and it was sweet of him not to pressure her in making arrangements to hand over the Sullivan file right this second. "How old is the littlest again?"

"Gretel," Mary reminded him. "Eleven."

A child. She was just a child. A little girl like the one Mary was going to have.

"And Billy?" Stan went on.

"I don't know…" Mary couldn't remember exactly. "He's in high school – fifteen or sixteen?"

"Okay…" the man was already pulling out his own phone and scanning it for names and numbers. "Is there a father in the picture? I don't remember what their status was when they came into the program. Was Maureen divorced and dad declined to enter WITSEC, or was he a deadbeat…?" he trailed off, waiting for Mary to get him up to speed.

"Um…" she tried to think back to the conversation she'd had with Tripp the week before, knowing this subject had definitely come up. "Tripp and Billy have the same father and…he's dead," speaking as she went along, eyes rambling in all directions on the bedspread, making sure she wasn't missing anything. "Gretel's dad is still out there somewhere." She snapped her lids onto Stan's, "Do you think we need to contact him?"

Stan shrugged, "Hard to say, but we're definitely going to have to look into it. If Maureen didn't name Tripp as legal guardian in her will, Gretel will be a ward of the state and foster care could be in her future…"

"What?" Mary let her disapproval of this being known, completely forgetting her hurry in phoning Tripp himself. "We can't let that happen! She's been through enough! Surely the court would see Tripp as a competent provider?"

"Eventually," Stan conceded. "But, it may take time; you know how slow these people are with paperwork. That's why I said we needed to get a jump on it."

"Uh-huh…" his inspector chewed on her thumbnail compulsively. And then, knowing she was getting in over her head and that this conversation was coming down the pike regardless, "Stan, I'd really like it if you and Delia could be the ones to maneuver whatever is left on this after I go on maternity leave," she requested without preamble. "Just, some stranger strategizing on Tripp after he's lost his mother…"

Apparently, she didn't need to say anything more because Stan silenced her with a shake of his head and a hand in her face, both gestures used to make her stop in her tracks. Mary knew how lucky she was to have such an accommodating boss.

"We are at your service," he referenced Delia in his promise as well. "The water cooler and I will be the only ones to touch this. And, trust me; I am perfectly fine with you going full steam ahead until the train reaches the station," the railroad analogy seemed to have been used a lot lately. "When you're ready to hand this over, Delia and I will be waiting."

Mary nodded gradually, allowing the idea to overtake her for a moment, strangely pleased in knowing she had people she could count on to do right by Tripp and his family when she had to step out of the ring. She also felt an immense amount of gratitude to Stan for not ordering that she resign her post right away. It was in her nature to go and go until she ran the stop sign, put on the breaks, and reconciled to turning around and going home.

"Thanks," she kept her response simple, which was often best. "Do you mind digging up Gretel's father while I get things squared away with Tripp?" right back into the fire now that the formalities were out of the way.

"Yeah, I'll see what I can do, or I'll have Marshall get going on it," Stan pocketed his phone once more, standing and seemingly ready to get the show on the road. "Before they were the Sullivans, what were they? What was Maureen's last name?"

"Jesus…" Mary thought hard, her eyes journeying skyward, the pain in her belly a distant throb now that she had something else to focus on. "Stewart? Maureen Stewart."

"Great," this was all the chief had to go on at present. "I'll need to verify that Tripp's and Billy's dad is actually deceased too – just protocol. Do you know his name?"

Mary nodded, quicker on her feet this time, "Ben-something."

In her mind's eye, she could picture Tripp's father; he was a kind-faced, gentle man with short hair and twinkling eyes – an older version of Tripp himself. She knew it was absurd to even paint such an image when she'd never met the guy, but something about his name and knowing Tripp attributed his mother's downward spiral to his passing had her envisioning him as quite the savior. Much like she'd drawn her own father in her youth.

"I'll see what I can do," Stan concluded soundly, already making for the door.

Mary got started on standing up, using one hand to anchor herself to the bed. By swinging her legs over the side and rocking back and forth like a giant beach ball, she was able to sway her upper body forward, and the rest followed in a rather unflattering second place. Stan seemed torn between asking if she needed help and bolting for the door so he wouldn't have to watch. Mary decided to let him dither, as she had more important things on her mind.

"I'm just gonna change into my jeans," she informed him, as she was wearing baggy sweatpants she'd jiggled into after the amniocentesis. "And then I'll call Tripp."

Stan tipped his chin downward and raised his eyebrows, knowing that Mary often left emotion aside when she shifted seamlessly into Marshal-mode.

"You gonna be okay telling him on your own?" he posed cautiously. "This is a big bomb to drop on somebody, and given his situation, I'm sure he'll be feeling some guilt…"

There was obviously some doubt in Stan's mind that Mary could hone the sensitivity required for a task like this one. But, for once, she bypassed however offended she might ordinarily feel and nodded confidently – she was nervous, but skilled at this in her own way. She was ready to feel like her old self, if only for an afternoon. Even if she did wish it came under less horrible circumstances.

"I can do it," Mary swore to Stan. "Hey, I'm gonna be a mom, right? When it comes to kids and their woes, I could use practice hugging them when they need it."

XXX

**A/N: I have to wonder if this chapter came as anything of a surprise. Killing Maureen off wasn't in the cards in the beginning, but the more I wrote of her and the more I thought about later parts of the story, the more I saw it happening. I hope you all enjoy the fallout! **


	24. Chapter 24

**A/N: Much love for the feedback!**

XXX

Her heart hurt.

Every pregnancy-related ailment was cleanly scooped to the side in favor of this piercing, biting, penetrating cut against Mary's most defenseless organ. It was as though she might be bleeding out right there on the carpet, if only the rug weren't so white, free of stains and crimson residue. Surely someone had slashed through her with a sword; a blade of some kind had to have stabbed her. She wouldn't feel like this otherwise.

Tripp's face before her own was wrenching; Mary wouldn't have been surprised if her own bleeding heart was what was causing her inability to breathe. She'd given witnesses news like this before, but never once had she been as affected as she was in this raw, desolate moment of watching Tripp just hurtle beneath the surface of the earth. Even for a man who had been trying desperately to free himself from his mother's clutches and start anew, it was clear that underneath, every man was still a little boy inside. A little boy who needed his mama to hold him close when he was scared; to kiss his scraped knees and tell him it would all look brighter in the morning.

Every boy, and Mary had thought this on one occasion before, was still some mother's son.

So, she watched Tripp with interest as well as agony; watched him stand towering above her from her place on Maureen's couch. She watched his eyes sink lower and lower, grow wearier and wearier; heard his voice implore and beseech for there to be some kind of mistake.

"But, I just…I just…" his hands grappled inanely against his jeans, trying to find something to cling to. "I just…I just saw her not…not two days ago. She can't really be gone…"

He was looking at Mary like she was going to stand up and rectify her prior statement, one of the hardest admissions she'd ever had to give. She might say something like, 'Maureen has been presumed dead, but we are still looking into other possibilities…' He needed that ray of optimism; that remaining gleam of anticipation, no matter how foolish it was to dream. Denial was so easy to root yourself in when you worked hard enough. Mary should know.

"Tripp, I'm sorry…" despite how trite and cliché the announcement was, she could think of nothing better right now. "There was a team in that drainage ditch all morning looking for any evidence there might be to indicate it wasn't Maureen in that car, but her body was recovered fairly quickly…"

Although she spoke in a soft, even tone, not unlike how Marshall would proceed if this were him, Mary couldn't get over the feeling that she was still being insensitive. Would Tripp really want the cold hard facts when all he cared about was that his mother was dead?

"But, her body…" she saw him swallow, gathering his resources to do battle. "Her body, I mean…how can they be sure it's her? You said whoever it was-was pretty beat up, and then the police might not be able to recognize…"

"Well, but Tripp…" Mary scored his rationalizations lightly in two. "It was her car."

"Well, so?" he countered almost at once. "Keith drives her car sometimes, because his is a piece of junk. I bet you anything he was the one who drove drunk and mom just…she must've been riding with him, and if he was thrown out, then she might still be nearby. I've seen those cop shows, this kind of thing happens all the time…"

His babbling tinkered away all on its own this time, but Mary could tell he was waiting for her to say that all his fabrications could be very plausible; that she hadn't thought of that, but now was the time to double-check. She couldn't lead him on because she knew better. She trusted Stan, who had been the one to give her the whole story, and she never would've gone to a witness with this kind of boom if she wasn't one hundred percent certain.

But, for the first time, Mary really did _want_ to lie. Tripp's untarnished hope was physically excruciating, almost more so than the twins wreaking havoc on her every extremity. Why did people do this? Why did the human race set themselves up to be heartbroken over and over again on the off chance there was a rainbow around the corner?

"Tripp, it was a woman's body," Mary buried her urge to fib and kept her gaze compacted on his so he would understand just how serious this was. "That's something it's pretty easy to tell. Plus, we have dental records…"

"But, she hasn't been to the dentist in ages…" Tripp went on relentlessly. "Those might not match…"

Mary knew she was going to have to stand now. Rejection of the truth to this degree couldn't go on, no matter how much the inspector wished to give her charge better news. She struggled upward while Tripp continued to spout out reasons why Maureen might be living on berries in a wooded area near the ditch.

"Mom's really not fit for the outdoors; if she's scared she could be stuck out there for a long time…"

Mary's hand hovered in midair, vacillating, debating whether or not to touch Tripp and yank him back to reality.

"Tripp, I know that this is hard…"

"You don't understand; mom does this sort of thing all the time. She'll turn up…"

"…But, pretending it hasn't happened won't make it go away…"

"In another day or two, she'll wander in…"

He wasn't looking at her now, shaking his head toward the ground, but Mary could see him thinning, could see his lip quivering beneath all his excuses. She allowed her fingers to close around his upper arm, and she could feel his muscles condense inward. The crushing blow wasn't far away.

"Tripp…"

It was a voice Mary rarely used. It was one of compassion, with a light, sinewy quality. It was begging to be broken, just asking for someone to shatter the pretenses. She was inviting Tripp to smash through the barrier, to face his worst nightmare head-on.

A squeak took flight from his quaking mouth, followed by several rattling gasps. His eyes didn't leave the floor.

"Tripp…" Mary said it again.

His eyes pinched shut, and identical tears wrung through his lashes. To Mary's surprise, however, he took his acceptance of the event in an entirely unpredicted direction.

"This is all my fault…!"

The lids snapped open and the tears flowed; Tripp was off and running just as he had been before, only this time it was with a little too much veracity, and nothing Mary said made any difference.

"It's all my fault!"

"No-no…" the woman spoke over him anyway, clapping both hands to his shoulders this time, swinging him around in hopes that he would face her. "No. Tripp, don't do this…"

"She needed a ride and I didn't give her one…!"

"She's a grown woman and she made her own choice…"

"If I hadn't tried to fight her for Gretel she wouldn't have been getting drunk in the first place!"

As he wagged his head at the carpet, Mary dipped her face ever-lower, trying to catch his glace, to make him see reason.

"You don't know that, you can't blame yourself…"

"Gretel's gonna die; she needs mom; they need each other…"

"Tripp, she has you," Mary insisted, but the poles tethering him to the floor seemed to have given way at last.

The tears turned to sobs – ugly, wracking, unbearable sobs. Mary was once again reminded of Brandi, who never held back when she felt the world had turned against her. But, the actuality of his mother's death seemed to be cascading right onto Tripp's head; the weight of it was insufferable; it pushed him back – the thief crashing through the front door, the oncoming semi roaring down the freeway into the unsuspecting bicyclist. Twins screaming their way into the world seven weeks early, fighting for breath and losing before their mother's hand could pull them to the safety of her skin.

Loss. Unexplainable, horrific loss. The feeling of doing everything you could and knowing it had made no difference. No difference at all.

"She didn't…she wouldn't…" Tripp choked out, not even trying to free himself of Mary's clutches. "She can't be…"

In lieu of saying the word, he surrendered to impulse and fell forward, Mary towing him gladly into her arms. Wetness soaked the back of her shirt as he cried and she sighed, the pull to embracing him becoming stronger by the minute. Selfishly, Mary enjoyed the way he hung onto her so forcefully, made his need of her touch completely evident. Something within was telling her to just hold him, to stay silent, to rub his hair and let him weep as long as he wanted to. There was nothing she could churn out to fix his desolation anyway.

His locks were soft, like a child's. They bristled against her fingers, and an ethereal sensation overtook Mary as she kept her grip, two children beating their tiny toes in her tummy below. She'd denied that she had any matronly instincts for many years, but a fog clouded her Marshal mind, replacing it with this quiet, nurturing force that was guiding her, whispering in her ear – the angel substituting for the devil who usually resided on her shoulder.

"It sucks…" she was still Mary, after all, even with a yielding twist. "But, it's not your fault…" a shudder from her young friend accompanied this assertion. "It is not your fault. You did everything you could; every day, you were doing everything you could to help your brother and sister. Maureen loved all three of you…" if in her own special way. "On some level, she had to appreciate all you went through to keep Billy and Gretel out of the fire."

Tripp gave an unattractive sniff, and Mary couldn't help wondering if his nose was dripping onto her shirt along with his eyes.

"Except trying to take them from her," he bemoaned miserably.

Mary exhaled slowly, but had nothing better to say except, "Tripp…"

Her only response was another warbling sob, but after another round or two of tears, he seemed to gather himself as much as he could, climbing slowly down the great height of grief. When Mary thought it was safe to back away – that same voice was telling her it was the right time – Tripp was wiping his eyes on his sleeve, snuffling loudly in order to keep from dribbling the product of his sorrow onto his clothes.

Mary gave him a moment, standing ready nearby, crossing her arms over her chest while she waited.

"This all started when my dad died…" he professed at random, just as he had just a few days before. "If he hadn't gone, if he'd made it…"

Mary knew that feeling too well not to be moved by it. She nodded, demonstrating just how closely she got it.

"Ben, right?"

She didn't know why she said his name.

Tripp nodded, "Yeah. Ben. I know mom missed him, I knew that she couldn't get over it; I mean I didn't either, really…"

Mary wasn't sure how to respond, and so she shrugged half-heartedly, nodding again to escort the gesture. She tried to elicit some empathy for Tripp, which wasn't hard given how forlorn he looked with his eyes all bloodshot and his cheeks patchy with red and tearstains. She couldn't foresee herself, after having lost her own father, being forced to leave her life behind for WITSEC with a mother who couldn't crawl out of the rut she'd toppled into.

Jinx had been hard enough in the familiar streets of Jersey, even including all the nosy neighbors and room mothers. Mary couldn't fathom doing it all over again in a new city, reliving the nightmare once James had walked out the door.

"She…she was a _good_ mom…" Tripp carried on blindly, allowing his phrases to sing their own song. "Back then. She and my dad sponsored my little league team when I was five; they even paid for the jerseys…"

As it happened, he was wearing a baseball jersey over his jeans, and he fingered the pinstripes in memoriam before keeping his string going.

"She…she used to bake cookies and stuff at school – for Valentine's Day and everything," Mary wouldn't have been shocked if he could actually see those treats in his brain; that the heart-shaped delicacies danced with their glossy red and pink frosting from a world long gone. "She…she was a _normal_ mom. Like…everybody else's mom."

He finished bleakly, still drying his eyes to no avail, because the dampness continued to leak out. Remembering that his mother had, at one time, been an ordinary parent that engaged in everyday tasks only seemed to reinforce his misery. Mary saw him pinch his thumb and index finger under his eyelids, stopping them before they filtered onto his cheeks.

"That's nice," Mary contributed when the murmur told her it was okay. "You should remember that, even though it hurts. Its proof she loved you, Tripp. I know she might've showed it in bizarre ways, but she obviously did."

Tripp nodded, his face dripping pitifully, and then turned his attentions more profoundly onto Mary. She wasn't sure what this was about at first, but was prepared to be charitable until he found the strength to voice whatever he was thinking.

Eventually, his hand swept down over his mouth, leaving its place underneath his eyes, and she heard him more clearly, though there was a distinct fuzziness to his tone.

"Can I ask you something you probably aren't allowed to tell me?"

Mary didn't know what this might be, but she bobbed her head anyway, "You can always ask."

He puffed out once, the sound harsh and loud in the otherwise empty room. After several blinks, where he could rid himself of the dregs in his eyes, he managed to reach his question.

"Did your mom ever get straightened out?" a bland, blank whisper. "I remember when we first came here, you told me how your dad ran out on you and your sister, and then I heard you talking on the phone to your mom. She'd had a DUI and she was in jail or something…"

Mary bit her lip, chewing the flesh, "Yeah, that's right."

"Well, is she the same way now? Did she change at all from when you were a kid, or did she get stuck like my mom?"

Mary knew full well why he was asking, but the truthful answer was almost more tragic than Maureen's death all by itself. Tripp was flailing for common ground, fighting to relate to someone who had suffered what he had. But, for probably the only time in her existence, Mary was disappointed that Jinx had turned her life around. It meant that she had gained while Tripp continued to lose. They weren't as alike as they'd thought.

"Well, she was never room mom material, if that's what you mean," Mary made a poor attempt at a joke to avoid revealing that their similarities had faded away. "I'd have died if she ever showed up sloshed when I was in the third grade, I can tell you that."

"I just…I just wondered…" Tripp hunched his shoulders, still trying to stem his runny nose. "If she's as much like mom as you made her out to be."

Mary swallowed, knowing that she was going against protocol by sharing intimate details of her personal life with a witness. She could also easily use this as an excuse not to confide in Tripp, but it wasn't fair to deny him honesty, not after he'd asked so solemnly.

"Well Tripp…" her hand found his shoulder blade and pressed in on the bone. "I was…lucky. After that particular DUI, my mom went into rehab and cleaned up her act. She's doing really well, but I can promise you…"

The man interrupted, "No, never mind…" he shook his head, obviously stung by what he hadn't wanted to hear. "I mean, I just…I was curious, but that's good, I'm glad…"

Mary sliced his babble in half, not about to let him think they were as different as all that.

Clapping his back, "I promise you Tripp, my mother could've gone the exact same way," she declared baldly. "It is a _miracle_ that she never did, and I don't subscribe to miracles…"

"Whatever, I shouldn't have asked…" he didn't seem to want this sugarcoated, and Mary could see the droplets of dew sparkling on his cheeks again.

"My mom was not someone who just went out and got wasted every now and then either," she chattered on, desperate to make him see he wasn't the only one to have undergone the way he had. "She was an alcoholic; I need more than two hands to count the number of times she drove drunk. It wasn't my fault, just like _this_ is not _your_ fault…"

Mary reminded herself forcefully of Marshall when he'd implored her over and over again after she'd lost Jamie that the miscarriage had been out of her hands. She didn't believe it then – she wasn't sure she believed it now, just as she'd never really convinced herself James abandoning the family hadn't had something to do with her. Even her claims to Tripp about not placing blame where Jinx was concerned didn't entirely ring true. It was all too easy to feel culpable for Jinx's screw-up's, for James' and for Brandi's.

It was how she felt now when she remembered her son and daughter. If they didn't make it, Mary knew she wouldn't be able to cloak the guilt in the least.

"Tripp, life is a crapshoot…" she informed him less-than-poetically. "There's no reason why my mother survived and yours didn't. There's no explanation for my father leaving us, and there's never going to be – just like you'll never know what would've happened to Maureen if Ben hadn't died."

Her kindest witness gulped and nodded, buying into the truth of Mary's philosophy because it was something to seize in this dark, murky present. It was belief that there were no answers, no concrete evidence to explain how and why. It was freeing, in its own way, to realize that.

"I know that if my father had stuck around, he'd have been miserable and I'd have never become a Marshal. I wouldn't have met Marshall and I wouldn't be toting around two bowling balls until I explode."

Miraculously, the little boy who yearned for his mother laughed shakily, and seemed to reach the crux much faster than Mary expected him to.

"We wouldn't have Gretel."

And Mary knew he wouldn't trade his sister, even if it did come as a result of his father's death. The pitfalls were always going to be there, lurking around every corner. It was when you found the daylight shimmering through the manhole cover that you learned to leave the past behind – to open the door ahead, while still saving a piece of yourself in the hearts of those snuffed out too soon.

"And she has you," Mary reminded Tripp, referring to Gretel. "Don't sell yourself short – she has you and she needs you, more than ever, just like my sister needed me."

"I wasn't trying to ruin her life," he reciprocated messily, his voice waterlogged. "I wasn't; I just wanted to help…"

"I know," Mary assured him. "Don't discount that either, okay?"

At this, Tripp simply established his resignation, "Okay."

Mary allowed him a moment's break, knowing it wasn't as easy as all this; Maureen's loss would come hard and fast in the days to come, reminding Tripp at every turn of the void in his soul that would never be filled. Good, bad, or indifferent, his mother could never be replaced, and Mary felt a sudden puncture in her heart, like a pin in a balloon, that took her back to Maureen's greatest fear. She'd loathed that Mary had fabricated herself as Tripp's caretaker, and the inspector suddenly wished to make it clear that there would be no surrogates in the time ahead.

"Listen Tripp…" her fingers caressed the top of his head briefly, before coming to rest at her side once more. "I hope you don't think I was ever trying to take her place. I was just doing what I thought was best but…Maureen's your mom. She always will be."

But, whether in Mary's defense or purely articulating his awe in her lioness ways, Tripp proved that nature versus nurture was one of the true mysteries of life. He was a boy who came from a woman in total disdain of Mary's mama bear abilities, and not only did he refute the disdain in his darkest hour, but he threw a note of benevolence on the end.

"You may not be _my_ mom…" Tripp muttered in a low voice.

To Mary's astonishment, he reached for her hand and held it for two seconds before letting go.

"But, your kids sure are lucky," a bashful whisper. "I know you're gonna make a really good one."

XXX

**A/N: I know we have been without Marshall for a few chapters, but I promise he'll be back in the next one! I wanted to build a little more Mary/Tripp rapport.**


	25. Chapter 25

**A/N: It is amazing what sparks reader's interests; I love it when I am surprised by what lines or moments my reviewers found particularly gripping. Several of you commented on the final lines in the last chapter, which was a surprise to me. Frankly, I was worried they would sound too much like what the witness in the final episode of the series said to Mary when she was in the hospital, "I don't know if you're a mom or not, but I bet you'd make a really great one" or something to that effect. I wasn't consciously thinking of that episode when I wrote Tripp's line, but I don't feel I can take all the credit just the same. ;)**

XXX

Mary went home around late afternoon, at which point she was definitely starting to feel sluggish and achy. The discomfort in her tummy since the amnio had never really gone away, but she'd been able to push it to the rear of her mind in favor of giving Tripp her undivided attention. She was used to being tired, but she felt abnormally listless as she maneuvered herself out of her car in the driveway. Willing to chalk it up to having been jabbed with a needle early in the morning, Mary plodded to the front door, looking forward to a quiet evening with Beatrix, out of the sticky August humidity.

But, when she inserted her key in the lock, she almost ran smack into Brandi, who appeared to be coming through. Ordinarily, she would've been highly annoyed that her sister would be in her house when she wasn't home, but today she could only be mildly bothered. After soothing Tripp all afternoon, she was drained of more than just vigor.

"Oh, hi Mare…" Brandi stuttered sideways so she wouldn't bombard herself right into Mary's protruding stomach. "Sorry. Mom just dropped me off for a bit to look at the nursery, but she'll be back soon," that explained why there was no car in the drive. "The painters got started today. I promise it looks great, but no peeking!"

"Spectacular…" she drawled, for once not caring what sort of decoration went up in the spare room. "Can you move? I'd like to get out of the heat."

"Oh…" Brandi jumped aside. "Right."

When Mary said nothing to her thoughtlessness, merely brushed past her and into the living room, dropping her tote near the couch, Brandi decided to stay behind, shutting the door behind her.

"How come you left the house?" the younger asked curiously, standing with her hand on the wood and eyeing Mary stealthily. "I thought Marshall said you needed to rest after the amnio."

"Work emergency," Mary replied dully. "I talked it over with Marshall, and he was fine with it."

Her aloof attitude must not have fooled Brandi completely. Leaving her post at the door, she moseyed over to the older of the siblings. Mary sincerely hoped she was not planning a cross-examination. She was sleepy and her stomach hurt. She would've loved to just go to bed and forget all about Tripp's hangdog, if only she thought she could actually catch a catnap.

"Well, mom said things went good at the doctor," Brandi nudged politely.

"Well."

"What?" the shorter wrinkled her nose.

"Things went 'well' not 'good.''" Mary sniped on her grammar. "But, more or less that's still true."

Brandi waved this away with her spindly fingers, "Are you okay? You look like you're trying to straddle a pony."

Though it had not even been a week since Mary's daughter had submerged herself firmly between her mother's massive thighs, the woman had rather gotten used to having to walk all bow-legged. Apparently, Brandi had not taken notice until now, or else it was more pronounced today because Mary was wearing thin.

"Just…baby stuff," the older sister muttered vaguely. "On top of work. You know how it is," although Brandi didn't.

"Nothing happened at work?" little sister pushed while Mary thudded very clumsily onto the sofa, swinging her feet onto the armrest at the opposite end. "I mean, I know you can't talk about it, but you seem sort of…" she shrugged. "I don't know. Down."

Mary considered while muddled versions of her usual mockery whirled in her brain, but none of them seemed to solidify. It was too much work to lash out at Brandi for trying to be her ear. Her mind was with Tripp. Was he alone right now? Did he have a friend to stay with him? Had Billy and Gretel been made aware of their mother's passing? Were they all together, like the dysfunctional family they'd always been? She wished she could've stayed with him, but it had been pointless after several hours; leaving him to his thoughts and his siblings, once they arrived, was best.

"Mare?" Brandi injected herself into her internal dialogue when she received no response. "It's not the babies, is it? You didn't get any bad news since the appointment?"

Given that they'd just been through the fact that the amnio had gone 'well,' Mary sighed at having to speak about it again.

"No. It has nothing to do with the kids."

The shorter just nodded from her place at the other end of the sofa, clearly unsure how deep she should dig for more information. It was always reckless in pushing the envelope where Mary was concerned, and given the pregnancy, any sort of altercation a very bad idea.

"Well, maybe you want to be alone…" Brandi advocated cagily, demonstrating in every word of cautiousness that she was against her own suggestion.

Mary decided she could do this ambiguously, "No…I just…" she rubbed her temples with her thumb and index finger, hoping she didn't have a headache coming on. "I had a friend – a work friend – and they…" it didn't matter what she said; Brandi wasn't astute enough to fish for more. "Well, their mother passed away and it's going to be hard for them. That's all."

Hearing this, Brandi slipped off the armrest and onto the cushions, looking interested without being snoopy, which was a new color on her. She tucked her legs up underneath her, like she was planning to stay; Mary couldn't truthfully appreciate this, but at least her sister wasn't acting nosy.

"Did you know the person who died?" she asked plainly.

This wouldn't give away too much, "Yeah, but it's really the people she left behind that I'm worried about."

Brandi nodded glumly, "That's sad. Was she young?"

Again, Mary felt she could supply without bringing WITSEC into it, "Yeah. It was an accident," although she wouldn't really define drunk driving as an accident; simply a consequence of a very negligent choice, but Maureen had been no stranger to that.

"What happened?" the other woman wanted to know, but Mary knew this was going too far.

Drunk driving mishaps were sometimes on the news, and so no good could come from giving Brandi the gory details. While she still doubted that her sister would care enough to put the pieces together, you didn't take chances in witness protection. Mary had known for years what was enough to placate her family and what was crossing the line.

"I can't tell you, Squish."

But, it seemed Brandi knew she wasn't being slighted this time; to busy herself, she shoved her hair behind her ears, thinking it was safe to keep talking.

"You look like you're feeling pretty low," she observed, very neutral. "Death's no fun."

Mary chuckled darkly, "Well, that was profound."

Brandi managed a giggle too, "Sorry. I guess I was just trying to understand. I don't want you to think I don't care, even when I know you can't tell me everything."

The older sister was willing to admit she was fairly stunned by this view. She so often monitored Brandi as nothing more than a self-centered twit; someone who always put themselves above everyone else. She was obsessed with superficial things like baby clothes, wedding dresses, and having expensive cheese in her fridge now that she was married to Peter and could afford it. At crucial moments, she'd mostly disappointed; Mary thought less than fondly of Brandi's reaction to the miscarriage.

But, here she was. Although she might want credit for her efforts, a bigger part of her was simply concerned that her big sister, ordinarily so tough and so rugged, didn't have the heart to appear detached and rude like she always did. Thinking this through enabled Mary not to ward Brandi away at the first sign of her sniffing for more thorough elements of Mary's persona.

"I never said you didn't care," the taller defended herself nonetheless, still massaging her head, for it was beginning to pound along with her feet. "I know that you do."

Brandi raised her eyebrows, "Really?"

Mary shrugged, not in the mood to be sentimental, "Well, sometimes I think you're just being a gossipy fishwife, but I do have a kind of radar for sincerity," it was what made her such an expert at her job.

Brandi rolled her eyes good-naturedly, "I guess I'll take that as a compliment. If you ever do feel like talking or if you _can_ talk…" a hand extended in front of her, indicating Mary had the floor. "I mean, I don't mind listening."

There was only one good reply to this, and Mary gave it, "Thanks, Squish." Then, because she was feeling worn out from all-things-Maureen, "So, the nursery's going well then? Marshall mentioned that it was Seth who finally figured something out."

"His dad?" Brandi inquired to be certain. "Yeah, he did. He called mom and gave her a whole bunch of ideas. He is _so_ charming Mary; if you and Marshall get married he'll be such a great dad."

Mary frowned, unsure what her sister meant, "A great grandfather, you mean?" but it was doubtful, considering Seth would be a grandpa whether her and Marshall were married or not.

"No, I mean a dad – for you," the shorter nodded innocently, not aware of how this would rub Mary the wrong way. "It's not like we've ever had one, and Hal is okay…" Hal was Peter's father. "But, nothing like Seth. He's crazy about you."

It was true that Seth had gotten very partial to Mary since the news of impending grandchildren had reached him and Laura, Marshall's mother, but she was still flabbergasted to think that Brandi was envisioning him as some replacement for James. Although he wasn't exactly _hard_ to replace, given his track record, it still gave Mary a funny feeling – like accepting he was never coming home, though she'd known as much for a long time.

"Well, but Brandi…" if she hadn't been so tired, she would've definitely sparred with her sister over this, but the mentioned had lucked out. "He's not _my_ father. He's Marshall's father. Like it or not, we did have one once upon a time…"

"Well, I don't remember," she shrugged this off much easier than the older would. "You're lucky to have someone like Seth. Dad pales in comparison next to him."

Again, Mary's stomach squirmed, and she didn't need to give it any additional reason to purge itself. It made her uncomfortable that Brandi could be so convincingly aloof about James. It wasn't an act like the one Mary put on for people like Marshall. Between this conversation and slogging through Jinx-memories with Tripp all afternoon, it was no guarantee she wouldn't lose her lunch.

"Well, it doesn't matter anyway," Mary declared in hopes of getting off this subject. "Marshall and I aren't getting married, but Seth is still going to be the twins' grandfather."

At this, Brandi pouted in disappointment, "_Why_ don't you just have a wedding?" she whined childishly. "It'd be so fun, and you can't tell me that Marshall is against it – I don't believe you!"

"Believe it," Mary tried to shut her up before she got going. "This isn't any of your business anyway, Squish. Marshall doesn't want to. End of story."

Nonetheless, phrasing it in such a final way made Mary's blood run cold. She feared what she'd just said was only too true, though Marshall had denied it just a few nights before. But, she'd told herself over and over again that she was not going to harangue him to tie the knot if he found it pointless. He'd done so much for her already, and even the possibility that he would marry her purely out of mercy was enough to have her running for the hills.

"Did he _tell_ you that?" Brandi goaded when Mary turned vacant.

He'd said just the opposite, but Brandi didn't need to know that.

"He doesn't have to tell me," the pregnant one decreed forcefully, but knowing it was a very weak argument on its own. "I know Marshall well enough to know what he wants."

Brandi snorted contemptuously, "You're kidding yourself. Marshall would die to marry you. If he's holding back, it's only because he thinks _you_ don't want to. He'd buy you the Bahamas and a hut at the water's edge if you asked for it."

This was a stupid remark, and Mary rolled her eyes, not enjoying hearing herself painted as some spoiled mistress. Brandi's husband was the one with the money – with the fame and fortune. She was the one with the man who gave funds to the children's hospital because he had so much to spare; they lived in the mansion with the housekeeper, not Mary. What did Brandi think she was playing at, making an accusation like that?

"Well, then it's auspicious for him that I don't ask for shit like the ocean," even the ridiculousness of that statement had Mary scoffing. "Isn't that your department?"

Brandi gave no indication she'd heard the question, "Auspicious," she repeated sneeringly. "You even sound like each other. You are _so_ meant to be."

"Meant to be is not in my dictionary," she criticized this term a lot. "And, if you don't mind, I'm tired," all her sister's compassion concerning the unnamed Tripp seemed to have escaped Mary quickly. "So, hit the road unless there's something else."

With Brandi, there was always plenty, but she just smirked and stood up. Mary hated when she acted so high-and-mighty, like she had a secret big sister didn't know. Furtively, Mary wondered if she behaved as such so often because she found it annoying that such a large part of the older's life was kept undercover. She wanted to prove she held clandestine treasures too.

"Fine, I'll go…" a hoarse laugh emitted from the woman who was leaving. "Mom just texted me anyway; she'll be here any minute," waggling her phone. "But, don't let Marshall and his chivalry keep you from getting a ring, Mare," as if she knew all about it. "If you want to get married, you should just tell him."

"Get out," she jutted a finger at the door from her place on the couch. "Now."

But, Brandi had said her piece and could now leave with the knowledge that she'd pushed Mary's buttons to the point where she might take her advice. She was not yet angry enough to ignore her completely.

Before departure, she stepped to the far end of the sofa and dropped a kiss on Mary's head.

"I'm sorry about your friend," Brandi said kindly. "Talk to you soon. Take it easy, okay?"

"I certainly won't forget to with everyone reminding me twenty-four-seven," Mary shot back. "See you later."

"Bye…" and Brandi waved over her shoulder, sashaying to the door and disappearing through it before Mary could wave back.

The quiet seemed to settle heavily with Brandi's departure; the slamming of the door ringing in her wake. Brandi always created a kind of circus-effect, the way she bounced off the walls and never stopped talking. When she left, it reminded Mary of the end of an action movie in the theater; the silence left behind was palpable, and the reality matured profoundly, almost crudely.

Try as she might, Mary couldn't keep her mind from Tripp. If she'd been in any shape to do so – and it didn't break about fifty WITSEC rules – she'd have stayed the night with him, Billy, and Gretel. But, the thought alone was depressing and Marshall would never stand for it. He would insist that he, or else Delia, be the guard at the grieving door.

Stationary on the couch, it wasn't long before the inspector was joined by Beatrix, who had probably been sniffing out the smell of paint in the work-in-progress nursery. The cat leapt onto her master's lap – or what was left of it, anyway – and scrambled over the bump to say hello. Mary grinned and scratched her ears; glad to know she wasn't going to spend the night completely alone. She had a hunch that Marshall would be getting in late, given everything happening with Maureen.

"Hey Bean Brain…" the woman greeted her companion with affection, despite the moniker. "Are you checking out Frick and Frack for me?" as she was motoring around the bulge. "You'd probably do a better job than that quack I had this morning, and that's saying something."

Beatrix gave an indignant meow at nothing in particular, likely due to being cooped up with the likes of Jinx and Brandi once Mary had left for the Sullivans.

"I hope you won't mind the sort of treatment you're gonna get when these kids show up," she continued, enjoying the softness of the beast's fur on her fingers. "Whether you like it or not, you're getting the shaft, mangy. Better get used to it now."

A benign blink followed this pronouncement, but then Beatrix resumed the grooming she'd started on her paws once she'd lost interest in Mary's belly.

"And if we get Brandi going on this marriage kick, then you're really off to the curb," she predicted churlishly. "As if Marshall really wants to be stuck with an old broad like me for all eternity."

Even though there was no one around to hear her, Mary didn't like how heartless that forecast sounded. She took pause in trying to avoid the scrabbling of the animal's claws near her fingers and thought it over more carefully.

"It has nothing to do with him," she corrected herself, as if Beatrix really knew the difference. "It's me. I lured him into my network of nonsense…" whatever _that_ meant. "Between Jamie, and Jinx's and Brandi's problems, he couldn't stay away. It's the pitfalls of playing the hero all the time. It's who he is."

Of this, Mary was certain. Marshall's compass pointed so far north he was constantly angled toward the upper pole. He'd been her best friend for so long, that it was only a matter of time before he had to rescue her from herself. Whether or not it had developed into more, as he claimed, she couldn't be sure. Circumventing, 'I love you' at every turn made it hard to tell.

"I'm just pissed I turned into that girl that needs saving," she informed Beatrix with raised eyebrows. "Damsel in distress and all. It's pretty sick."

The cat seemed rather bored with her babbling and took to examining her rumpled grey fur a little more closely, perhaps so she wouldn't have to listen.

"But, I guess it wouldn't matter how tough I tried to look. Toting these two around…" she palmed the side of her tummy for emphasis. "The men think you can't even walk without breaking a nail."

Beatrix, who probably couldn't break a nail even if she tried given how sharp they were, mewed and rearranged herself at Mary's side, likely to go to sleep. She spent half her life sleeping. Mary wished she could be so fortunate.

"Of course I'm one to talk," she reminisced. "Breaking out in hives every time I have cramps. I'm ready for these kids to show their faces, B," shortening Beatrix's name. "Can you speed up the time and get me to thirty-seven weeks, say…tomorrow?"

Mary heard a snuffle, like a sneeze, sound from where Beatrix had curled herself into a ball, squashed between Mary's stomach and the couch cushions.

"I guess that means no," she figured. "Well, you can't promise me a wedding ring either, so what good are you?"

What she said out loud be damned, Mary still told herself ad nauseam that she absolutely did not need to dress up in a gown – just the thought was enough to gag her – and walk down an aisle in front of a weeping Jinx and a giddy Brandi. She didn't care if some ceremony held more weight underneath – if it was about more than bouquets of flowers and a big reception. It was that 'more' that she refused to force Marshall into. She'd said no, and so had he. She was not a woman who went back on her word.

"We have each other; you and me, right?" Mary murmured, a spacey timbre to her tone. "You, me, Marshall, and the twins. Pieces of paper don't mean anything. Marshall obviously knows that," she nodded; though Beatrix had her head fully buried in the throw pillows and wasn't watching. "And so do I."

Nothing else to mull over, Mary contended herself with rubbing the portion of Beatrix's head that was not concealed, and thinking as the setting sun slunk through the shades. It cast long shadows in its ginger beams; it reminded her of spokes on a spinning wheel the way it sloped through the blinds. After awhile, it would've been prudent to get up and turn on the light, but she became lost in her musings, mind turning with thoughts of Maureen bleeding to death in a trench, Tripp sobbing with his brother and sister – squalling twins with tubes up their noses and sparkling diamond stones on bare fingers.

As a result of her contemplation, she was stationed in almost total blackness when Marshall finally came home, which wasn't until after nine o'clock. It wasn't hard to see how she'd slipped into the shadows, given that she'd begun to doze off along with Beatrix. It was one of those nights where she was so done-in that the pain didn't keep her from catching a few winks.

It was only when Mary heard the key in the door that she stirred, finding a dull, grayish hue seeping into the room. She blinked among the patchy, dusky, purple tinge over the furniture, trying to get her bearings, wondering whether she'd managed to roll right over and crush Beatrix in the process.

Marshall flipped the lamp on the end table on before Mary could sit up all the way. She didn't want to think about how she looked in natural light after having drooled off unintentionally.

"Hi…" her partner whispered, and he looked a little worse for wear himself; the quills of charcoal on his chin were particularly evident. "Why were you just sitting here in the dark?"

"I fell asleep…" she gave up the ghost right away. "Have you been at the Sullivans all this time?" adjusting her top as she spoke.

"More or less," Marshall immediately removed his shoes and tossed them into the alcove by the front door, depositing his keys and sunglasses on the same table as the lamp. "Tripp asked if Delia and I would hang out at least until Gretel went to sleep. She's pretty torn up."

"Christ…" Mary moaned with a shake of her head, extracting the cat from her knees and dumping her unceremoniously on the ground. "This has got to be their worst nightmare."

"Yes, I would imagine," Marshall picked up the slack and slumped over to the sofa to join Mary. Letting out a theatrical sigh as he parked himself, "Fortunately for us, Stan really got things cracking. We're already looking at a funeral on Thursday."

"You're kidding…" arrangements that fast were quite the wonder. "That soon?"

"Like I said, Stan pulled out all the stops. He really wants to get this tied down before you and I have to hit the road," he too pushed Beatrix to the rug when she tried to jump up beside him, not in the mood for entertaining the being. "He knows how important Tripp is to you."

Mary was reveling in the ordinary nature of this discussion – free of twins and surgeries and amnio needles – but she rolled her eyes nonetheless.

"I wish everyone would quit talking about the two of us like we're some sort of couple…"

"On the contrary," he held up a floppy finger to talk her down. "It is more like mother and son…"

"Don't say that," Mary snapped, probably surprising him with the sharpness of her voice, but it rang a very loud bell to Maureen's greatest peeve where her WITSEC inspectors were concerned. "I am not his mother. I was never his mother. I shouldn't have to explain that to anyone."

Indeed, Marshall did look rather taken aback, and it wasn't really him Mary was provoked by, but herself. She hadn't liked Maureen in the least – she'd been an immature sympathy-hound that wanted to parent her children only when it was fashionable or if she had nothing better to do. But, she was still Tripp's mom, and as Mary had told Tripp himself, no one could replace that.

Just as Seth could not replace James. Just as the twins could not replace Jamie

Marshall mostly disregarded her tetchy temperament and took his time brushing a few eyelashes out of his gorgeous, azure orbs. They were greyer than normal tonight – fading fast with everything that had been heaped on his desk in addition to Mary's pregnancy burdens.

"I was not implying you were a reserve for Maureen. You're more like an addition," he turned his phrases around quite neatly. "Something along the lines of joint custody, but not…"

"You bet not."

"Mary, tonight is not an advisable one to hash this out," Marshall suddenly mashed any glimmer of a fight about something so trivial. "Both of us are beat, and you have had a particularly long day," it was hard to believe the amnio had only been that morning. "What happened to Maureen was ill-fated in the worst possible way. Trampling on what either of us did in her lifetime is irrelevant. The focus now should be her kids – not to mention yours and mine."

There was little chance of Mary disproving such a well-worded testimony. The here and now was the only thing they could be centered on. The past was in the past. Mary wondered if she would ever learn that.

"I hated telling Tripp…" she admitted brusquely. "I mean, I wanted to be the one to do it, but still…" in her mind, she could see those sad eyes of his all over again; full of disbelief and despair. "It's so unfair. I might as well have just ripped his heart right out."

"Ah…" Marshall gave a gentle sigh, leaning his head in his hand, glad to be away from regrets about Maureen. "You were just the messenger. I know you, inspector. I know you did the best with what you were given."

"Same goes," Mary inclined her head at him. "I'm sure it was no picnic being there when Billy and Gretel found out."

Marshall swallowed, "Billy did pretty well, and Tripp was determined not to go to pieces, but Gretel was beside herself."

"Tripp thought she would be."

"I would give anything for them not to be relocated in the midst of this," he swapped gears momentarily. "But, Stan's not sure it's going to fly. He's tried contacting Gretel's father and he's already come up with several possible matches. I can't see how they're going to be allowed to stay here much beyond the funeral. If this guy comes into the picture and stays, they're out of here."

A sudden hole seemed to form in the middle of Mary's stomach. It was concave and gaping, like a fist had sunk straight into her gut. She knew this scenario was not about her. Her feelings, well-being, selfish wants and desires, had nothing to do with Tripp or his family. He couldn't stay in Albuquerque, in danger, just because she thought she needed him to. He was a grown man, now with a ready-made family to support. Mary missing him, or whatever this puncture was, was beside the point.

Whether it mattered or not, she must've looked slightly dazed after receiving Marshall's take on the situation, because his gaze softened almost at once.

"We don't know anything for sure," he said, a little too sensitively to appear remote. "But, if they are transferred…"

"It's what's best for them," Mary interrupted harshly, unable to reconcile this right now. "For all of them. They can't be in New Mexico if there's any kind of threat level. Please," she worked out a jeer. "You and I both know that."

"Yes, we do…" Marshall granted her that, holding firm. "But, here in the southwest or in the northeast…"

"Forget it, Marshall."

Mary made to stand up, but was so slow that her man got his piece in anyway.

"Mary, no matter where Tripp is, he'll always love you for what you've done for him."

And Mary could barely contain a gasp at hearing that little word spoken out loud – half because she'd never considered the possibility that Tripp felt anything but amusement toward her and her antics, and half for another, much bigger reason.

She'd always thought that when Marshall finally said that single syllable phrase to the open air, he'd be professing his own feelings – not claiming the affection of a boy about to be shipped halfway across the country.

XXX

**A/N: I promised Marshall and he was here – with Brandi thrown in! Lots of you have been annoyed by Brandi in this story, and you were supposed to be to an extent (especially given how I wrote her in 'Empty Arms'). But, hopefully she's making a little bit of sense too. ;) **


	26. Chapter 26

**A/N: This chapter is a tad longer. And, I'm not sure why, but I like it. I hope you will too.**

XXX

The daybreak of August beating against the glass windowpanes the next morning did not encourage Mary to leave her bed. She'd spent most of the night throwing her sheets and blankets at Marshall, and when she couldn't sleep – whether from heat or kicking twins – she left the mattress to fiddle with the thermostat. The outcome was that she found Marshall wearing a scarf and fingerless gloves while he perused the morning paper at the kitchen table. Beneath his fleece pullover, he was already dressed for work, and seemed to be under the impression that Mary would not be tagging along.

"What are you doing?" she asked, somewhat chagrined that Marshall appeared so casual below his many layers.

His eyes crossed upward, pausing mid-sip of his coffee.

"Catching up on events from various countries and continents around the world," he informed her pretentiously, raising a corner of the paper. "You?"

"What do I look like I'm doing?" Mary rebutted, which was nothing at all.

For a woman who wanted to go to work, or at least stop by Tripp's, she wasn't making a very good case for herself. She was still in her pajamas, though she'd sweated through the tank-top she was accustomed to wearing. If she were able to stomach a T-shirt, she would've, because her upper arms and neck were so flabby it was embarrassing. But, it was so hot Marshall was lucky she didn't just go to bed naked.

"You look like you are getting an easy, unhurried start to the morning," he answered her inquisition. "I commend you."

Mary wasn't interested in him polishing off her surly attitude by twisting the circumstances. She'd overslept – or, she would've, had she slept at all – and Marshall was going to leave her at home because he thought work was too strenuous for her. It was as simple as that.

"Why are you wearing that?" his woman flicked her fingers at his ensemble, though there was really no need to question him.

"What, exactly?"

"That – all of it."

"Well…" Marshall swallowed another gulp of coffee, obviously sensing he should tread lightly. It was one of 'those' days for his treasured partner; she was proving that right off the bat. Why or how could be explained later; it was essential at the moment to keep from stimulating the creature within that longed to bite his head off. "It is a steamy day, I cannot deny. But, for those of us _not_ expecting a bushel of babies, it is a trifle chilly in here."

Mary knew she should be appreciative that Marshall was so accommodating toward her weird pregnancy habits. Indeed, she could feel the coolness lingering on her bare arms, but it seemed to evaporate almost on contact to make way for the scalding surrounding air. There was no telling how frozen Marshall was, but at the moment she didn't care.

She'd woken up petulant from lack of sleep, and crabby because she was going to have to let go of Tripp sooner rather than later – not to mention her sister's fixation on marriage, which was likely the real culprit of her bad mood. It was hard to forget how easily Marshall side-stepped, 'I love you.'

"Bushel of babies…" Mary snarked because she had nothing better to say; she tramped off to the fridge to pour herself a glass of juice. "Well, that puts me off bananas for the morning."

"That would be a non-starter anyway," Marshall rotated in his seat to face her. "The smell bothers you too much."

Mary rolled her eyes where he couldn't see her, "How could it slip my mind that you know everything about me before I've even done it?"

She wasn't sure what the man was doing on the other side of the refrigerator door, but she busied herself shifting containers and jugs aside looking for apple juice. If they were out, it would only enhance her poor mind-set. Sometimes, she drank milk but she usually preferred it with cereal and she wasn't hungry enough to eat yet. Orange juice, her old favorite, now made her gag because of the pulp.

It seemed Marshall was going to ignore her sarcasm about their reciprocal ESP on each other's thoughts, "Can I help you find something?"

Mary pulled her head out to address him, "Where's the apple juice?"

"Try the door."

She let out a huff as she saw it sitting there, feeling dopey for not having thought to look in that spot. Marshall, in his usual chivalry, didn't comment on her absentmindedness, but he did fold his paper up, like he was planning to talk to her. He really should've known better, even as she glared at him from where she unscrewed the cap and plunked the liquid into a glass. Maybe he thought he could proceed deftly enough that it wouldn't trouble her.

"Why don't we cut to the chase here?" he opined clearly. "Are you upset with me or is it something else?"

"I'm not upset with you," Mary nearly spoke over him, coming off shiftier than she would've liked. "Why would I be?"

Well, this was a dangerous question; Marshall had learned that very quickly in the last nine months. Breathing and blinking could bother Mary these days. He seemed to make many mistakes he didn't even know he'd made until she brought them to his attention. This could very well be one of those times.

"Then we'll go with the, 'something else' category," he adjusted his scarf. "Is this about Tripp?"

Mary decided she'd seize the opportunity while she had it, "Were you planning on taking me to work with you?"

Marshall had thought this might be it, but he still had the strong suspicion he had done something he was unaware of. He could nose around about that later in the day if Mary mellowed out. While he didn't want to appear dubious, he doubted there was a very good reaction to her allegation if he was planning on being frank.

"Not right away…" he started off obliging, but it only gained him an exasperated tutting noise. "I figured you could hang out here for awhile, and then perhaps Tripp could come over here this afternoon if he wants."

Mary's eyebrows tapered inward. Her cup went slack in her hand. This was new.

"Come over here?" she repeated slowly, sure she'd misunderstood. "Have you lost your mind? He's a witness; he can't come to our house."

"Given the mitigating whirlwind he is in right now, and the high probability that all three of them will be relocated, I do not see much harm in him stopping by," Marshall rationalized. "He's a good kid – there is no impending danger. He's not going to give us away."

Mary was annoyed that he had worked his way out of her argument so quickly and she stuck a hand on her hip.

"Well, maybe I don't want him to come here."

Marshall was surprised, but did his best to sound unbiased, "And why is that?"

The honest answer was, 'Because if he's leaving, I might as well let go right now,' but she wasn't going to open that can of worms with Marshall. She was an irate woman, swollen all over and looking to avoid any sort of chat about feelings at all costs – be it hers about Tripp, or Marshall's about Mary herself. It felt good to be crotchety. She felt like her old self.

"Because his mother just died and he doesn't need a touchy sad sack like me infringing on his misery."

Marshall was a little bowled over by his partner's not-so-high opinion of herself, but decided he wouldn't show it.

"But, Mary he likes you."

At this, she abandoned her juice all together, dumping the glass loudly into the sink so she wouldn't have to look Marshall in the eye. He must've known he'd committed a gaffe the night before in saying Tripp loved her, because it was a little too coincidental that he had altered his terminology this time.

"Nobody likes me," she grumped over the clattering of forks in the sink.

Marshall was incapable of letting this go, "Now, don't be silly," he worked to sound humorous, like it was all in fun. She heard his chair scrape against the linoleum, meaning he was going to join her, "I like you very…_very_ much." Two hands tickled their way onto her waist from behind, "And so does Tripp."

Mary absolutely refused to turn around, as she was not going to be enticed into his sensual mind games. She clattered around among the dirty dishes to pass up having an exchange like this so early in the morning.

"Tripp would like me a lot better if I'd gotten his mother a ride like he asked me to."

Mary had no earthly idea what made her say such a thing. She hadn't felt accountable for Maureen's dim-witted decision – no more so than Tripp. If she was being candid, there had been no room for dwelling on Maureen's choice to drink and drive among all the other things she had to stew about. But, was it feasible that it had been lurking in the dustiest corners of her brain? Back there with Jamie and her father and all the other crap she couldn't let go of?

Marshall squeezed against her sides, resting his chin on her shoulder, "You know that he doesn't blame you," his breath was very warm in her ear. He smelled wonderful; like freshly laundered clothes – perhaps from the scarf – and the merest whiff of smoked bacon. "Neither do I. You have a plethora of distress on your plate without adding Maureen to the pile."

His partner closed her eyes against the rising sun outside the window, inhaling the combination of soap and heavenly fragrant breakfast that was just him. He was so talented to be able to abate her grouchiness like clockwork; like a phenom. She was about to shift sideways and allow his arms to wrap her up when she heard the droning hum from across the room.

Thus, Mary curved for a different reason to locate the source of the buzz, but Marshall was already on it. He left his post and loped back to the kitchen table, retrieving her phone that she'd left out the night before.

"It's your cell…" he announced, before taking the liberty and answering it himself. "Hello?"

There was the usual pause while Mary leaned against the counter, watching him listen, almost grateful for the opportunity to duck out of going over Maureen, Tripp, and anything else worrisome. That was until she heard Marshall's response to the person on the other end of the line.

"Yes, this is Marshall…" odd, since it was not his phone. But then, "Yes, she's right here. One second…" Pulling the cell from his ear, he held it out to Mary, "For you. It's Doctor Reese's office."

It was beneficial, for Mary's sake, that she had yet to ingest a meal, because she felt as though a rock had dropped into her stomach. It fit right beside the space that had formed the night before when she'd learned how likely it was that Tripp would be leaving the state. Even with her absolute hurricane of events, the virtual tornado she'd been sucked into in the last week, Mary could scarcely believe she'd forgotten already.

The amniocentesis results. Incredibly, Maureen's death had pushed them completely from her mind.

Marshall seemed to extend the phone toward Mary's hand for several minutes before she registered that she was supposed to take it. He was looking slightly apprehensive, but it couldn't have been more apparent that he wished to remain calm. She needn't act as though their entire lives hinged on this. Just the twins' lives.

And without them, you could pretty much kiss Mary's existence goodbye as well.

"Right…" she finally slipped her Blackberry away from him, her voice rather tight. "Thanks."

To Marshall's credit, he did not implore her to keep her cool. Once she palmed the cell, he went back to his breakfast dishes, gathering his own dirty plates to stack in the sink. Mary sidled toward the living room so he could reach the faucet – and so she could whirl back around and avoid him seeing her features.

"This is Mary."

They were fine. They were just fine. Even if they weren't, she'd felt perfectly healthy – whatever comprised 'perfectly healthy' at eight months pregnant. This was not the be-all, end-all. It was not.

"Hi Mary, this is Emily. I'm calling to report the results of the amniocentesis you had yesterday morning?"

Why had this girl placed a question mark on the end? It made her sound amateurish – unsure. Could Mary trust her to give the correct diagnosis? Fortunately, almost as soon as the thought entered her mind, it was brushed away by the flighty receptionist.

"I have Doctor Reese on call waiting; she wants to give you the figures herself."

Figures? Mary didn't know what to make of that, but let it go.

"Okay."

"All right, just hold on a moment…"

There was a loud, shrieking sort of beep in the inspector's ear as the call was transferred. While she waited it out, Mary thought it would probably be a good idea if she sat down, but she couldn't make herself do so. Instead, she tapped her foot and bit her lower lip nervously, fighting every itch to go back to the kitchen and stand with Marshall so they could do this together.

Despite every better suggestion speeding through her overloaded brain, she stayed where she was. It seemed hours before Doctor Reese finally came on the line.

"Mary?"

"Yeah…" she confirmed. "Hi."

"Good morning," Doctor Reese modified her speech now that she was sure she had the correct patient. "I'm sorry to call so early; I hope I didn't wake you."

It was almost nine o'clock, but Mary felt no need to point this out.

"No, it's fine."

Just say it. Why couldn't she just say it? Was there any point in dillydallying around? Mary knew there wasn't. There was no changing whatever was written on the wall. Pleasantries were meaningless.

"Well, I wanted to get the results of the amnio back to you right away, so we can decide where to go from here," the physician affirmed, a methodical attribute to her voice. "I was told the procedure went off very smoothly."

"Yeah…" Mary said hastily; all of her veins seemed to be jangling against her bones. "But, that's not really the point, is it?"

This was her way of praying audibly that she wished Doctor Reese would get on with it. To her relief, it seemed her restlessness could not be missed, because the other woman took it upon herself to get down to business.

"No, I suppose you're right," Doctor Reese amended. "Mary…"

She knew that tone. Nobody ever said your name that way when they planned on giving you good news. Unless Doctor Reese was pulling her leg, she knew there was absolutely nothing coming that she wanted to hear. Suddenly, Mary was struck with the impulse to have delayed the inevitable a little longer. She'd wanted it all laid out seconds before. Now she longed for the doctor to hold back.

Why had she thought thirty-three-week-old twins just over three pounds had any chance of mature lungs? Had she really fooled herself into believing that? This was why she never allowed herself to have expectations. The dissatisfaction was so much worse.

"I'm sorry, but the results for lung maturity came back negative on the baby who was tested – the male."

Mary's throat had gone very dry. The sun out the front window was blinding her. She couldn't see. She couldn't think.

Negative? Why didn't she just say that he'd failed? It would be just as barren and just as bleak.

"There's really no need to test the female now that we know," Doctor Reese went on while Mary worked to swallow past the cottony feeling that was preventing her from speaking. "We'll just have to keep an eye out, monitor your blood pressure closely, and try to keep those babies in utero as long as we can."

Mary had heard all this before. It wasn't easier the second time – or the third or the fourth. She'd begun to lose track. Didn't everyone think she was doing everything she could to hold her children in the womb? What more could they ask for?

She had an impetuous premonition.

"So…I mean…" each letter was an effort; between trying to keep the call from Marshall and elude crying, it was hard work. "Is this…I mean…bed rest?" jumbled and barely a whisper, she'd be astounded if Doctor Reese understood her.

She couldn't go on bed rest. What about Tripp? Things were different now. He needed her. Could she really discard him when he'd just lost his mother? The injustice of it all was tormenting Mary. A choice like this was so vastly unfair.

"Doctor Abbott took your blood pressure when you were at the hospital yesterday," Doctor Reese described. "And, it is continuing to rise," no concrete numbers were given. "I think you'll be all right for the remainder of the week…"

Well, at least there was that.

"But, we'll get another read when you come in for your thirty-four-week appointment on Friday. I wouldn't be surprised if you head into the weekend chained to your bed," she finished grimly. "We'll have to see, but I won't hesitate to order you to keep your feet up permanently at that point." And then, perhaps to placate the woman, "You've made it a nice long stretch, Mary. The final month including bed rest is not uncommon with twins at all."

It didn't matter how you sliced it. To Mary, three weeks was an eternity, and everyone in her inner circle knew she was going to strive to make it even longer, to extend herself all the way to forty, no matter how exceptional that might be with multiples.

Still, the real insult to injury here was the results on her son's lungs. She'd done it all – lost sleep, been sick, agonized hour after hour – for nothing. Marshall could say whatever he wanted in terms of feeling improved about being in the loop, but she didn't buy a word of it. She was no better off now than she'd been before the amnio. All she'd learned was that at least one of her kids wouldn't be able to breathe on their own if they were to come this very moment.

She wasn't sure any sort of obsessing or exhaustive report was worth knowing that.

"Okay…" Mary made herself rejoin the conversation, not a clue how she was going to repeat this entire account to Marshall, as she'd done a decent job concealing it from him from across the room. "Well, I…thanks for the update…" she had nothing else to contribute. "Unless there's something else."

"Just the usual," Doctor Reese concluded. "Be aware. Watch yourself for any signs of high blood pressure or premature labor. Any dizziness, headaches, consistent contractions…" she rattled off the list. "Don't hesitate to call the office."

"Right," Mary nodded, wanting to be rid of her now. "I know."

"All right," the other woman segued. "I'll see you on Friday then, Mary. Take care of yourself."

"Yeah…thanks…" she said far more courteously than she felt. "I will."

Once again, it seemed a long time before Mary hung up the phone. Blindly, she tried to slip it into her pocket as she usually did, then she remembered she was wearing her elastic pants, and they didn't have a pouch. This left her standing with it in her hand, staring out the window, mesmerized by the heat waves warbling over the crunchy desert grass. There were chunks of mud near the gutter from where it had rained Sunday night. Mary could gawk for hours if it meant she didn't have to face the never-ending drama ahead.

It was the sound of clinking glasses behind her that alerted her to the fact that Marshall was waiting. She couldn't tell him. She'd failed. Hadn't she? Somebody had, but it couldn't be her little boy. It wasn't his fault his lungs didn't work right. Didn't that mean it was Mary's?

It was a slow turn to the kitchen. Marshall was still at the sink, but he held no visible interest in the plates and silverware. His eyes were transfixed on her.

Mary did not know how she appeared to him, but she knew any other man would've asked a thousand questions to get to the core – to get to the one simple facet he really wanted to know. Not Marshall. He knew her inside and out, and she could've been grinning to beat the band – he'd have known it was a farce.

As it was, Mary knew she was not smiling, and this was enough for Marshall as well.

"No sale?"

Mary loved him for not interviewing her about the whole thing. She blinked back the tears, focusing on the carpet to aide with this task. Painstakingly, she shook her head.

This was all he needed. He left his dishtowels and stained milk glasses in an instant, striding the length of the room to offer his condolences. What else could you call them? He knew the best thing to do would be for them to commiserate together.

When he reached her, it was with a well-timed, sensitive sigh.

"Oh, Mary…"

Without preamble, he hugged her, finishing the one he'd tried to worm his way into over by the sink. She stood blankly, arms at her sides, reveling in his compassion and enjoying just being with him. Little, if anything, was better than him.

"You must be so disappointed," he promised nothing, and his partner was forever grateful. "I'm sorry."

It was such an unoriginal avowal – the required 'I'm sorry.' No matter how cliché it was, however, Mary found herself repeating it.

"I'm sorry too."

Marshall was smart enough to know that the woman did not mean in general – she was not apologetic for the challenge they found themselves in, but for her part in the ordeal. Mary's desperate need for control had her believing she held the power over her children's well-being. It had been the same song and dance with Jamie – underneath all her insecurity, she still detained herself in highest esteem. The sun and the earth rotated on her every command. It was one of the things Marshall loved most about her.

"You don't have anything to be sorry about," he assured her, glad to feel a hand float onto his back so the embrace was not so one-sided. "You didn't do anything."

Mary groaned, "That's for sure."

Marshall's answer was a pat on the shoulder, "Come on. You know that's not what I meant."

She closed her eyes, yearning to go back to ten minutes prior, when she'd been thrilled just to soak in his scent and his long, lean body. Those minutes where she could escape the pressures of work, the pressures of babies and nursery patterns were few and far between. Marshall was the only one who could give her that getaway, but right now it didn't seem to have the same effect. She felt like he was containing her rather than whisking her away.

Clutching him once a little tighter, vowing not to let her emotions get the better of her, Mary pawed away, uncertain how they'd gone from zero to a hundred in less than thirty minutes.

"I just need some time with it," she declared, which was not all together true; seconds passing wouldn't recover the letdown. "That's all."

She brushed her hair out of her eyes, feeling the strands tickling her retinas, but even once she cleared the space, she knew it was more than curls bothering her eyes. Tresses didn't cause that acute burning sensation that meant an overflow was on its way.

"Mary, we aren't out of options," Marshall watched her shrink inward, watched her for signs of how she usually dealt with hassles, which was to run away. "I'm guessing bed rest is coming?"

She nodded, "Yeah. Probably by the end of the week."

Marshall was heartened by this information, "That's good. We'll be able to see Tripp through the funeral. It'll give you some time to make amends with him…"

"We didn't have a fight," Mary interrupted.

"Poor choice of words," he admitted, and this was a rare occurrence indeed; Marshall was often so eloquent. "It'll give you time to explain to him what's going on – as much or as little as you see fit – and turn him, Billy, and Gretel over to Delia and Stan. He'll understand, Mary. He will."

She didn't generally mistrust the poise in Marshall's convictions, but on this occasion, she couldn't help feeling cynical. Tripp was one thing. He might sail off into the sunset relatively smoothly, but what about Mary? This wasn't just about the boy. She was losing him as much as he was losing her. She wouldn't put her children in jeopardy for anything, but having to let Tripp go so directly was as physically painful as any of those contractions she'd struggled through in the last eight months.

"I just…I don't…" what was going to come out of Mary's mouth was so selfish that she couldn't begin to contemplate how Marshall was going to react. "I…I don't want to be pregnant anymore," her tone was meek, downright docile. "It…I'm just…"

She grabbed hold of anything that did not put her face-to-face with Marshall. She felt ashamed to have admitted to such a thing, that being with child was getting in the way of her life. After Jamie, how could she resent having one baby, let alone two? She remembered the agony of losing him and felt even worse. In the grand scheme, was having to step down at work really so awful if the result was healthy twins?

"I don't know," Mary finished lamely.

Marshall grabbed her hand from where it swung at her side and squeezed it, "Don't beat yourself up," he advised amiably. "Like I said before, you're entitled to be a little sullen. There's a reason men aren't the ones who procreate, my lady."

Mary couldn't help the quavering giggle that erupted, "Why is that?"

"It is not a job for the fainthearted. It requires nurture the likes of which I cannot foresee; you have to house and care for a being – beings in our case – which you cannot even see or touch. You put everything aside for the sanctity of a beating heart and nothing more."

Although Marshall's idealistic expressions typically elicited disdain in Mary, this time was different. She was further startled when his elegant fingers found their way to the bump, a place to which they never strayed. Mary was very particular about who could fondle her stomach, and in most cases it included only herself.

"Think about all you're sheltering _besides_ the kids," Marshall went on with an air of awe. "Lungs – yes. But also two hearts, four legs, four arms, two heads, twenty fingers, and twenty toes." He shrugged, eyes on the round, "I'd say that if _only_ the lungs are malfunctioning, you're doing pretty well. And I don't know of any man that could do all that so selflessly."

Well, Mary could think of one – and he was standing right in front of her – but that was quite beside the point. He could see that his elaborate speech was having the desired effect on her and her raging hormones. He was taking advantage of her.

"I don't see what being a woman has to do with it," she objected in order to stall.

Marshall just smiled, "Then I guess you'll have to take my word for it."

Her partner's word was as good as the gospel, even if he didn't utter the three she needed to hear the most. Did it really matter? He was here, wasn't he? He'd just placed her on a pedestal because she bore his children. He was wearing a scarf and gloves in August for Christ's sake. Did the words themselves really make any difference?

After all, her father had claimed over and over that he adored her, and it had meant nothing. Nothing at all.

"I admit I'd be getting quite the laugh if you were pregnant," Mary left professions of love aside. "I'll…do my best with Tripp and see how far I get."

Marshall nodded, visibly pleased that they weren't going to hash out the details of the amnio, at least not right now.

"That's an excellent plan…"

But, before he could worship her any further, the front door swung open and Jinx, of all people, walked through it. Marshall stepped backward, from where Mary had been sure he was about to kiss her, and pasted on a smile, like everything was peaches and cream. Mary knew her mask was going to have to present itself as well.

"Hi…!" Marshall waved, and Mary suddenly wished she'd taken the time to get dressed now that they had company.

"Hello dears!" Jinx sang, waggling her fingers exuberantly. And then, "Ooh…my!" she shivered, rubbing her arms at once, for she was wearing a sleeveless, flowery top. It was perfect for the weather outdoors, but for the icebox that was Mary's house, it was nothing if not skimpy. "I'll have to get my sweater out of the car…"

"We like to keep things frigid here on Mann Island," Marshall proclaimed as the brunette flounced over to the pair of them.

Jinx laughed as she spotted his fleece jacket and outerwear, "Look at you…" stroking the fabric with her pink-tipped fingers. "You're such a gem, Marshall…" everyone in the vicinity knew James never would've catered to Jinx any such way. "Hi sweetheart…"

She stretched her neck to give Mary her complimentary kiss on the cheek, and her daughter took it in stride, appreciative of anything that kept her from disclosing the amnio results.

"Don't you have a class this morning, mom?" Mary asked, genuinely curious as she wondered about the little dancers at the studio.

"Not until eleven," the other woman said. "But, the painters and the decorator will be here at nine thirty and I wanted to see them get started."

Marshall gathered this cue in both hands, knowing his partner well enough to realize that keeping Jinx occupied with baby garland and ribbons was a surefire way to leave Doctor Reese's phone call in the rearview.

"We're gonna have to get started too," he returned. "Mary and I are off to work here in a bit."

Mary and I, he had said. She was going to get to go with him. She was going to oversee what was happening with Tripp. She got to be a Marshal, if only for four more days.

If that wasn't love, what was?

XXX

**A/N: As I said up-top, I'm not sure why I'm partial to this chapter; there's not a ton going on, but we get some information (or, Mary and Marshall do). Hope you're sticking with me!**


	27. Chapter 27

**A/N: I so appreciate those of you who are taking the time to review!**

XXX

Mary wasn't sure how valuable it was to go to the office when she was a bundle of emotion ready to explode. There was the fact that she was disillusioned with the verdict on the amniocentesis, which only heightened every twin-terror she'd already had. She felt almost blessed to be going to work at all, not to mention having Marshall's permission, and that was enough to make her weepy as well. Add on what was going down at work – the death of Maureen – and no one could trust her not to lose her marbles before lunch.

Mary also hadn't banked on having to deal with more than Tripp, Billy, and Gretel. Marshall took a phone call around ten that he punctuated with many eye rolls and frail sighs, like he was agreeing to whatever it was against his better judgment. And, just minutes later, she found out exactly why this was.

A disgruntled Tripp, a stony Billy, and a tearstained Gretel slumped through the double doors after Marshall granted them admittance, followed by a man in some sort of percolating temper that Mary had never seen before. All the alarms in her brain went off – it was so far beyond a red alert to have an unknown face breach WITSEC's confines. She rolled her chair back at once, going to meet Marshall halfway. He spoke to the group at large first.

"Mr. Delaney, I'd like you to step into that room right back there…" he addressed the stranger and pointed toward the facility past the entrance, where Mary's sessions with Doctor Finkel usually took place. "Someone will be right with you."

The man groused indiscriminately under his breath, which didn't earn him any respect from Marshall. The inspector kept his finger held aloft until this outsider did as he was told, leaving the three kids with more familiar faces.

"What's going on?" Mary wanted to know, and Stan stuck his head out of his office to listen as well.

Marshall didn't tackle her right away, "Tripp, you all can take a seat in the conference room," his tone turned much softer with this direction, and it included a pat on the young man's shoulder. "I'll send Mary in-in just a second."

"Okay…" Tripp agreed in a dead sort of voice. "Come on…" he pulled Billy and Gretel along with him, so that only a bewildered Mary and a curious Stan remained behind.

Once they had disappeared behind a closed door, Marshall only got out the briefest of sighs before Mary pounced a second time.

"What is going on?" she said again. "Who is that guy?" jerking her head at the glass partition beyond. "He looks like douche bag material to me…" she hadn't liked the way he'd mumbled and grumbled in a facility where he so obviously did not belong.

"I was wondering what his connection is too…" Stan meandered on over to them, eyeing Marshall suspiciously. "Why is he with the Sullivans?"

It was clear by their reproving glances that Marshall appeared to have crossed a line, something he never did – be it work related or otherwise. This meant that there must be a plausible explanation for his actions, but Mary couldn't fathom what it might be.

"His name is Keith," Marshall began, and the name sparked something in Mary's subconscious. "Maureen's latest boyfriend."

Stan obviously did not understand why this title would permit a non-witness to pass through the doors into their private world, but Marshall was quick to explain.

"Tripp said he found out about Maureen's death late last night while our security detail was on duty," the tallest went on. "Well, that guard was a buffer, but I guess Keith has been hounding all three of them – Tripp in particular – for more information since early this morning. He called a few minutes ago and said Keith had followed them here…"

Mary arched her eyebrows, knowing this was a red flag if ever there was one.

"I don't think he's a legitimate threat, just a guy who is taking out his anger – or grief, or whatever it is – on the closest target," Marshall ended his account despairingly.

"So, _definitely_ douche bag material," Mary decided soundly. "How do we get rid of him?"

"Well fortunately, he doesn't know anything about WITSEC – Tripp says he's not exactly the brightest," Marshall disclosed, knowing there was a reason they did not plaster their binders, desks, and file folders with the acronym because of a situation just like this one. "I think if we just give him some inside information on Maureen's death – or what he thinks is inside information – he'll be satisfied."

"Sounds like a good idea," Stan approved, knowing he could count on Marshall to analyze the human mind, even a moronic one. "The way things are going, these three…" throwing his thumb over his shoulder at the morose Sullivans. "…Are gonna be out-of-state by the end of the week, and we won't have to worry about it anymore."

A lot of things seemed to be happening at the end of the week, Mary thought, but now wasn't the time to fester over that.

"Just…let's keep him away from the kids if we can," Marshall suggested with a stealthy glance to the children in question. "They don't need any more upheaval. Stan, would you mind coming with me to talk to him?"

"No sweat," the chief was game.

"Mary, can you sit with them?" Marshall inquired, indicating the Sullivans once again. "Maybe go over what Stan found out this morning?" this was regarding Gretel's father, which the boss had filled her in on when she'd arrived. "I don't think it'll take long to beat off old Mr. Delaney."

"Yeah, no problem," Mary was raring to go as well, knowing it was probably safer for her to be with the kids regardless; it was a surefire way not to get her into hot water with her blood pressure. "Good luck with Mr. Huffy."

"Thanks," Marshall reciprocated, and with nothing else to share, he beckoned Stan and the two of them marched off to the room tucked behind the double doors where their sulky charge was waiting.

With a slow exhale, Mary turned around and trundled the opposite direction, feeling depressed just watching the glum looks on her witness' faces. Nonetheless, she was touted as a fine US Marshal for a reason, and so she put her own problems aside and shoved down the handle on the door. It felt strange not to have a file folder or something in hand when she visited the conference room; it was like she was nude without her artifacts.

"Hi guys…" she greeted the Sullivans casually, but casual was the furthest thing from what they were displaying.

Tripp was frowning deeply in a chair at the head of the table, his arms crossed and his chin pointing toward the floor. Gretel, Mary was touched to see, was sitting on Billy's lap, though she was a little big for the space at eleven years old. She was crying and her brother was stroking her hair absently, but he looked as incensed as the oldest sibling. Mary didn't have to wait long to figure out what this was about.

"Is that jerk still here?" Billy asked aggressively, and Gretel let out a pitiful sob.

Mary was a bit bemused to encounter this attitude from Billy, who was usually very quiet. It seemed his mother's passing had hitched new spirit into him.

"Marshall's taking care of him," she assured them, taking a seat at the long table. "You guys don't have to worry about it."

It seemed this wasn't enough for Billy, "That freak has been stalking us since he found out about mom!"

Tripp came to life upon hearing this, "He hasn't been stalking us, Billy," he sounded irritated with his brother's melodrama. "He hasn't," facing Mary temporarily. "He's a hot head; I told you that if we came here, we'd be able to shake him off."

"Well, that was the smart thing to do…" Mary praised, hoping they were not going to get at odds, but it appeared Billy was looking for every reason to wrangle with Tripp.

"Like you know _anything_!" the younger of the two shot back, seemingly forgetting that he had Gretel on his knee, who just continued to bawl – a sound that was foreign to Mary. "If you hadn't wasted your time with that custody crap and spent more time figuring out who mom was hanging around with, maybe this guy wouldn't be trying to break down our door…!"

"Let's not get into that…" Mary interspersed, holding up a hand, knowing Tripp didn't need more regret piled on.

Billy appeared not to hear her, "How do you know this guy can't follow us to wherever the hell we're going once we bury mom?!"

Mary found this highly insensitive, considering Gretel was almost inconsolable as it was, and didn't hesitate to make it known, "Calm down…" she said sharply. "Now. Billy, you know that WITSEC…"

"If he ever paid attention he'd know that you and Marshall wouldn't send us somewhere Keith could find us!" Tripp snapped, sitting up and uncrossing his elbows.

"…Thinks he's such a big man now that mom's gone…" the younger brother snarled.

"If you want to try it, then go ahead!"

Tripp had stood up, an action that surprised Mary, as she had rarely seen him so confrontational. But, it wasn't her pleas that caused either brother to back down, but Gretel's. She flew off Billy's lap, tears streaming down her face, cheeks blazing red and mottled.

"Stop it! Stop it! Don't fight anymore! Don't fight!"

And she slapped her hands over her ears, screwing her eyes shut and howling as Mary had never heard a child howl before. The weeping was worse than Tripp's in a different, much more tragic way. Even Mary, who had considered her own upbringing fairly lacking, could not imagine the sort of turmoil Gretel had experienced in her youth. The stance she was in right now proved her greatest craving was to break away from from everything being thrown at her, if only she could find a way out.

Mary was almost coldly pleased to see the guilt flit across both Billy's and Tripp's face at their sister's spectacle. Billy tried to rectify his mistake, as he was closest, and touched Gretel's arm, but she jerked away from him at once.

"No! I want my mom! I don't want to go anywhere! I just want my mom…!"

And, as if Mary hadn't been startled enough in the last ten minutes she watched, perplexed, as Gretel flung her fingers from her lobes and tore around the table, careening right into Mary on the opposite side, hiding behind her broad back.

The same voice that had reminded her when it was okay to hug Tripp told her to curl her arm behind her to cover Gretel from whatever she felt she needed to screen herself from.

"You see what this is doing…" Mary hissed at the men, though was careful not to sound severe over Gretel's wailing. "You cannot turn on each other…" both had the grace to look ashamed. "You need each other and I know how much it _sucks_ right now, but it's better to suck through it together."

Reluctantly, both Tripp and Billy managed weak smiles; Mary could almost see them chewing on the insides of their cheeks to avoid showing this universally happy signal. Now wasn't the time to be looking pleased, but Mary's unusual brand of sensitivity had them surrendering quickly.

"Kiss and make up," she demanded when all they did was stare awkwardly at one another.

Gretel peered out from behind her legs like she didn't even recognize the two on the other side of the table, but the mention of her brothers kissing had her own adverse grin eking out.

"Right…" Tripp mumbled gruffly, scuffing his feet on the linoleum. "My bad, Billy. Sorry."

The younger looked somewhat less than apologetic – he obviously had a hankering for someone to blame – but was cordial enough to accept the request for forgiveness to avoid more squabbling.

"Me too," Billy burbled almost in a whisper. Clearing his throat and summoning his sister, "Gretel, get back over here. We'll shut up. Promise."

"They're lying," Gretel croaked spitefully, sounding much more childish than the preteen she really was. "They've been fighting since yesterday and I just want them to _stop_ but they don't _listen_!"

Mary felt tiny fingers fisting the hem of her shirt from behind, and knew she was going to have to do her part to coax the little girl out.

"Gretel, sometimes when people are upset they act angry. I should know, I do it all the time," she wasn't much for pep talks though. "Come and sit down. I have something I need to tell all three of you, and I promise you won't want to miss it," referring to the child's father, sight unseen. "It's important."

"Gretel, let's go," Tripp persuaded. "You can sit with me."

Mary wasn't sure how smart this was, as the sentence was phrased like the eldest brother expected to be chosen over the younger, but fortunately Billy kept quiet. Gretel, still glaring and weeping slightly, slouched over to Tripp and he pulled her up and onto his knee, scooting his chair to the lip of the table.

Once Mary was confident that the trio was going to achieve some sort of concord, she too took a seat, eyes scanning their faces for signs of conflict. Billy had one eyebrow quirked, as though whatever Mary's 'important' news was could not compare to Maureen zigzagging her car into a drain. Tripp was working to get Gretel under control, nuzzling her close underneath his chin.

"Okay…" Mary started over, wishing for the second time that she had some sort of folder in front of her; giving details about Gretel's dad seemed like a sham when there was no evidence. "I know you guys have had a lot to process in the last twenty-four hours…"

"Not even," Billy corrected scornfully, but the inspector chose to ignore him.

"But, I was told that Stan spoke to you yesterday about locating Gretel's biological father."

Tripp nodded slowly while Gretel looked on, wide-eyed. Mary was actually a little surprised that the girl wasn't more indisposed to the idea, but given everything that had been thrown at her in the last week; her little brain probably couldn't physically catalog much more.

"I had a question about that, actually," Tripp brought up before Mary could go on.

She obliged, "Sure."

"Well, if you're able to track him down and he's not…you know…" he seemed to battle with his words, and kept glancing anxiously to his sister and back to Mary. "…Dad material…" meaning if he was a deadbeat. "We're not stuck with him, are we? We can just get on with our lives? He doesn't even need to know we're here?"

The woman nodded, "More or less. If he turns out to be a risk to your safety in any way, we won't contact him," Mary explained. "But, if his record is clean and we feel comfortable, we can bring him into WITSEC – not necessarily here in Albuquerque, because you may be relocated by then. But, I would keep an open mind. He could really be an enormous help – especially financially."

Billy gave an indistinct grunt at the mention of money, but Mary decided she would bypass his attitude once again. Tripp was the one who would have to worry about supporting his siblings now that Maureen was gone.

"Okay, so…" the oldest commenced. "Have you found him already? Gretel's dad?"

Mary bobbed her head another time, glad things were moving along a little more efficiently, despite Billy's griping from his seat in front of the window.

"Stan thinks so," she disclosed. "He has it narrowed down, anyway. As soon as we make a positive match, we can look into his records and find out if it's advisable to bring him into the fold."

"And to tell him he has a daughter?" Tripp wondered dubiously. "That's heavy stuff."

"What if I don't like him?" Gretel interspersed in a small voice that was not completely devoid of tears, huddling inside Tripp's chest. "I've never had a dad, and I don't need one; mom was the only thing I ever needed…"

Getting back on this kick wasn't a good idea, and Tripp was smart enough to rub Gretel's hair and shush her so Mary could continue talking and perhaps ease the child's mind.

"Gretel, I know it's tough to understand, but things have definitely changed," the Marshal kept up her stream as best she could. "It could be awhile before somebody recovers your mother's will and until that happens, we need to make sure – in terms of WITSEC – that you guys stay safe. The best way to do that is to contact your closest relative and bring them into the loop…"

Mary chose not to clarify why this was the case. She didn't have the heart to voice that she was concerned that Maureen had not given Tripp guardianship of Billy and Gretel in case of a tragedy just like this one. The only way to get around it was to set up ties with another blood relative; in the event that the contents of the will went south, there would be someone right there to dispute the point in court.

Surely any man who loved his daughter – even a daughter he didn't know he had – would concede what was best for her was to be with the only real father figure she'd ever known. In this instance, that was indisputably Tripp.

In any case, the will was probably going to be sorted out long after the Sullivans were relocated to another state, which was why the Marshal's office had to move so quickly. It was imperative they get everything settled so that when the move took place, backup was already arranged in terms of custody.

"Gretel, I swear, if this guy is trouble there is no way Stan, Marshall, or I will let him anywhere near you three," Mary concluded to get out of voicing all her doubts. "We will have background checks running overtime before he even finds out you all exist."

"But, even if we don't meet Gretel's dad, we'll still have to move, won't we?" Billy snapped unexpectedly. "For like, no reason at all?"

"Not for no reason at all," Tripp interrupted, all thoughts of not going to war flying out the window. "Mom's accident was on the news and in the papers and everything. We have to move because our security has been breached."

Mary had to admit, she was rather impressed that Tripp had used such professional jargon. He could be an inspector himself in a few years time, the way he was behaving.

"Is that true?" Billy turned to Mary, not in the mood to believe his brother.

"Unfortunately, yes…" Mary said cautiously, knowing the reaction was not going to be favorable. "Stan doesn't think there's any way around it, but you'll be here through the end of the week…"

"I can opt out though, can't I?" Billy shot back, startling Mary profusely.

"No, you can't!" Gretel burst, nearly falling off Tripp's lap in the process, which agitated the oldest Sullivan once more.

"Billy, quit saying that!"

"I want to stay here!" the high-schooler declared boldly. "No one's going to stop me!"

"You are not staying here!" Tripp hollered, at which point Gretel began to cry all over again.

"Both of you, shut up!" Mary smacked her hand on the table, annoyed with both of them for acting so immature when Gretel was obviously distraught. "Billy, you can't opt out – you're not eighteen," she informed him snootily. "If you don't go wherever you're transferred to, the Marshal Service is required by law to find you and take you there. So, you can forget staying in Albuquerque."

She did not mean to sound so harsh, not when all three of these kids had just suffered such a mammoth blow, but time was running out. And Mary was just about to find out how short the seconds really were.

There was a colossal crash from outside the conference room door, one that caused everyone to take pause in the tussle and try to locate the source of the sound.

"Jesus…" Mary remarked while Tripp, at the same moment said, "What was that?"

But, further explanations were unnecessary when Keith came striding across the room, as they could see from the window, followed by a very harassed-looking Marshall, who was clearly trying to get the man to halt. The inspector was shouting, nothing Mary could catch on this side of the glass, and waving his long arms, but Keith was determined to reach his destination. He found it quickly when the door burst open and he went tearing around the table and right up to Tripp.

"Keith, this isn't a good idea!" Marshall bellowed, and Mary was forced to roll her chair to the side to make room. "If you don't calm down, you're going to be escorted downstairs or booked at the local PD!"

"Where's Stan?" Mary wanted to know, as she'd thought their chief had been along for the ride.

"You said everything was under control!" the man himself appeared; it seemed he'd retreated to his office until this outburst had come along.

But, Mary was suddenly enraptured by Keith, who had seized Tripp's collar and yanked him out of his seat, sprawling Gretel onto the floor.

"HEY!" she hollered upon seeing this; both she and Billy left their chairs, a move that was not missed by Marshall even in the cacophony.

"Mary, I've got this!"

"What happened?!" she had to know; why had this guy flown off the rails and resorted to manhandling their witnesses?

"Tripp!" Gretel shrieked as her brother and Keith stood nose-to-nose.

Mary's instincts immediately kicked in and she maneuvered her way around the table as quickly as possible, snatching Gretel by the wrist and pulling her out of the fray. It seemed, however, that Tripp was not all together sorry to have been grabbed by his mother's boyfriend. If anything, he was relishing it.

"Did you tell these cops I let your mother drive drunk?" Keith snarled, still clutching the hem of Tripp's shirt and likely breathing onions into his face. "Answer me!"

"Get off him!" Billy threw out a hand to Keith's shoulder.

"Billy, stay out of it!" Marshall squalled, and he was the one to insert himself into the deadlock, trying to sidle between boyfriend and son, but there was no room for him to break them apart. "You let go of him _right now_ or we draw weapons," he threatened with a significant glance to Stan in the doorway.

"I didn't say that!" Tripp reverted to Keith's original accusation.

"You see?! He's insane!" Billy backed up his brother, while Gretel clung to Mary's leg, soaking her jeans with tears.

"Keith, I already explained to you!" Marshall was relentless, fingers now hovering around Tripp's collar, like he was considering tugging them off the seams himself. "We wanted to get a clear picture of what happened the night of the accident and Tripp suggested that we speak to you! There was never any indication that you were to blame…"

"Only because he hadn't gotten there fast enough…" Keith sneered, and Mary was astounded that Tripp hadn't just hurled with how close the man was to his face. "Give him time. This little punk's been trying to get me out of Maureen's life since day one, and now he's gotten the police involved!"

"Keith, I am ordering you to let him go!" Stan's booming boss voice rang out above the others, fingers twitching toward his belt loop where his gun was strapped in. "This isn't a witch hunt; it's not even an investigation." It was time to give up the ghost, "These kids came here because they were frightened and wanted someone to reel you in. That's it!"

Though the perpetrator did not loosen his grip right away, his eyes left Tripp's face and he turned to look at Stan, then Mary, and finally at Marshall. It seemed to dawn on him in pieces that he wasn't a 'person of interest' at all – that these 'cops' had been leading him on just so they could get rid of him.

"He told you he was frightened?" and there was no understanding in his voice, but mocking. "It's all a show he's puttin' on…" gaze back on Tripp, and Mary distinctly heard the hitch behind her, meaning Stan was about to pull his glock. "This innocent game is all an act. He screwed up my plans with Maureen; we were going to New Orleans and he tried to take the little one from her to make her stay…"

"Her name is Gretel!" Billy barked, but Keith didn't seem to hear; he was practically lifting Tripp off the ground.

But, this soon became the least of anyone's worries.

"If you ask me…" Keith continued, savoring the cruelty of the coming words. "He's the one who killed Maureen and is just trying to cover up…"

It happened so fast Mary wasn't sure she even saw it all play out. Tripp lunged at Keith, but it took most of his stamina just to free himself from the iron grip. Keith staggered backward and knocked Billy into the window, clattering against the blinds. All the while, Gretel sobbed and Stan had-had his fill.

"Enough! You hear me?! Enough!"

The gun left its holster, but Keith was too focused on his prey to hear it. Mary watched just long enough to see him wind up and extend his elbow back; saw the knuckles form the fist, pulsating and white with rage. She saw the uppercut swing forward, perfectly aligned with Tripp's jaw…

And all of a sudden, Tripp wasn't there anymore. Marshall was. His lean, trim body flew into the skirmish, knocking Tripp aside. Too late to pull back, the punch hit its new target – Marshall's right eye.

The sound was a sickening thud as Keith's knuckles made contact with Marshall's retina. Gretel screamed, but was drowned by Mary.

"Marshall!"

"Hands on the table! Hands on the table NOW! Delia! DELIA!"

Stan was there, the weapon in the face of the dangerous, who seemed relatively stunned by what he had done. Delia was there too, ushering the bawling Gretel out the door, Billy not far behind.

"Hands where I can see them! Face down!"

Fortunately, Keith knew he had been beaten and was obeying the chief, who had also lifted his handcuffs from an inside pocket. But, Mary was blind and deaf to the movements of others, even Tripp, who was the only Sullivan to remain behind. He appeared thunderstruck by having seen Marshall take the hit for him, but Mary let him gape. She pushed Marshall roughly into a chair and her hands fluttered pointlessly around his eye, which was covered by his own fingers.

"Are you okay?" she gasped, trying to get a look at him, but it seemed pressing his palm to the wound was all he was interested in. "Are you okay? Let me see…"

"I'm fine, I promise…" at least he was speaking, but his good eye was twitching, likely feeling the sting from the adjoining lens.

"Tripp…" Mary turned to her witness, the only warm body left, as Stan was busy cuffing Keith to the table. "Go out to the freezer and get some ice. Hurry up."

He nodded weakly, "Okay…"

And off he went, blundering through the door, head likely spinning between Maureen's death, Keith's totally bizarre reaction, and surveying Marshall playing the hero and taking the heat.

Before Mary could dote on her partner any further, he waved the hand that was not concealing his eye, and motioned toward one of the rolling chairs sitting nearby.

"I'm fine," he repeated. "Sit down. You're bent like a hunchback, and you won't thank me later when your spine starts feeling it at five o'clock."

Sighing, but knowing he was right; Mary towed one of the chairs over so she could be in front of him, seeing him wince and blink a few times, like he was making sure his orb still worked properly.

"What were you thinking?" she couldn't resist asking, losing her nursemaid routine momentarily.

"Surely you don't wish Tripp had taken the shot," was Marshall's rationalization.

"Give it an hour and I'm going to wish you didn't have a black eye."

"I told you, I'm all right," Marshall insisted steadily. "A little ring and raccoon look never hurt anybody," even as he continued cringing every time he blinked for practice.

However, the ruckus looked as if it were dying down as quickly as it had arrived. Stan was lugging Keith off through the door with mutterings about restraining orders and nights in the basement of the county jail. Delia, Billy, and Gretel might as well have vanished from thin air, although Mary was pretty sure their fellow inspector had taken the kids to the room Marshall and Keith had just left. Tripp, she presumed, was out rooting around in the freezer for something cold.

Except for a few misplaced papers and wonky blinds where Billy had crashed into the window, the room seemed to breathe a little more normally again. In some ways, it made the scuffle all the more alarming when Mary stopped to think about how many other things could've gone wrong had they not all been there to put an end to Keith's wrath.

"You got him?" Stan broke into Mary's thoughts, gripping hard around Keith's wrists even though they were already cuffed. He indicated Marshall, "You good over there?"

"All in a day's work," Marshall mused blearily.

"Tripp's getting ice," Mary interjected.

"All right," Stan nodded soberly. "Me and my friend here are going to have a little chat about what an 'order' means in Marshal-speak, and then we're taking a trip to ABQ PD to file assault charges."

Mary wanted to smile about how smug he was behaving with Keith, because the man seemed completely emasculated now that he'd been caught red-handed. Deep down, she knew Stan would flounder once they got to the police station; Keith would be held for the rest of the day purely so Stan could see him sweat. He'd get off with a warning, but Mary was pretty sure her boss meant business when he'd mentioned the restraining order.

"Stan the man is pulling out all the stops," she informed Marshall as the chief wandered back to his office, hauling Keith behind him.

"Nobody likes a cop killer," Marshall replied dramatically. And then, in a more natural voice, "He's looking out for the kids until we manage to get them shipped out of here."

"Right," Mary nodded. "You know…" her hands just couldn't stay away from his, and she allowed them to fall back on his face, gently guiding them away from the bruise. "Stepping up to defend Tripp was very 'dad' of you."

"Ah, it's my training…" he shrugged modestly, and Mary was disappointed to see him grimace when her nails brushed his lower lid. "Not there…"

"Sorry," she apologized. "But…damn. These three aren't leaving Stan and Delia with nothing, are they?" she thought back to how she was going to tell Tripp that maternity leave was coming up fast.

"I think the worst is over where Keith is concerned," Marshall claimed. "Stan will straighten him out."

"Hope you're right."

Just then, Tripp returned in a tizzy, his hands red and dripping, like he had sifted through the entire freezer at warp speed. Mary turned to see what he had recovered.

"I-I-I couldn't find any ice, so I grabbed this bag of fish sticks," he held up the sack to demonstrate. "Kind of weird, but it should get the job done."

Mary managed a chuckle, "Thanks," and she took it from him, liking how the coolness felt on her swollen fingers, not to mention the rest of her overheated form. Rotating back to Marshall, "Let me do it; I'll press it tight…"

Marshall shrugged and permitted Mary to slap the package of fish onto his face to prevent his eye from swelling up too badly, even knowing that it wouldn't thwart the purple bruise that was likely to form by the end of the day. He sighed in appreciation when the cold came into contact with his skin, seeming to relax at once. Mary nudged her chair a little closer, making sure to keep the ice crystals as close as possible.

"Is that good?" Mary asked to ensure that he was comfortable.

"Yeah," Marshall nodded. "Thanks." And then, in a low voice that Tripp couldn't hear, "All this coddling. Very 'mom' of you."

Mary flushed a deep reed, trying to determine whether he was only saying this to give back what _she_ had said to _him_ about his 'parenting' actions. Rapidly, she realized she didn't care, because Tripp had exhaled loudly; this wasn't the moment to get all warm and fuzzy.

"Marshall…" the boy began warily. "I am really-really sorry. I had no idea Keith would pull something like this…"

"Nonsense," the man declared nobly. "You proved that this was where you needed to be. Anytime there's a question of your safety, you come to us."

"You know that, Tripp," Mary chimed in, shifting the fish on Marshall's eye.

"Still…I feel just terrible…"

"Well, don't," Mary shot back. "Our number one priority right now is to keep you secure until you're relocated."

Tripp's face fell, and he swallowed, "That'll be pretty soon, right?"

Mary kept her composure, "Probably on Friday, after the funeral on Thursday."

And as Tripp sighed a second time and shoved his hands into his pockets, Mary couldn't imagine what sort of state she'd be in when that day arrived. Taking to her bed after having said goodbye to this young man, so near and dear to her heart, was once inconceivable.

But now, the stress of incoming twins and the heartache over losing Tripp could have her burying herself under the covers because she wanted to, not because she had to.

XXX

**A/N: This is maybe a little random, but serves for good drama nonetheless (I hope!) Given that I've made Keith pretty ambiguous but mildly "troublesome" I felt like it would be okay to trot him out. I know the story might seem slightly jumbled at the moment, but it's wending its way somewhere; I promise!**


	28. Chapter 28

**A/N: I know I am kind of plodding along with this – hope it hasn't gotten boring!**

XXX

Mary's brain was fried by the time her and Marshall made it home that evening. For a change, the tiredness did seem to be in her head and not in her joints, although they still creaked precariously every time she moved. She was looking forward to a quiet night at the house, not unlike the one she'd hoped to achieve the nightfall prior if not for Brandi's sermons about marriage. Still, she was determined to not to become the victim of worthless phone calls and drop-in visits, both of which were unsuccessful about an hour into the mission.

Both she and Marshall had holed up in the bedroom; she with her feet on a mountain of pillows, Marshall drooped on his side so that Mary could press a bag of peas into his swollen eye. He kept insisting that she needn't bother; he was perfectly capable of tending to his own injury, but it wasn't entirely for him that she doted. The iciness on her flesh was helpful in maintaining a normal body temperature, which she had great difficulty mastering.

"Hello!" came a bellowing, buoyant tone from out in the living room, followed by the slamming of a door.

Mary groaned, "Oh man…" she knew it was Jinx, wondering what on earth she could've possibly missed when she'd been at the house all day overseeing progress on the nursery. "Maybe if we're really quiet, she'll go away…" the daughter was quick on her figurative feet, but Marshall just chuckled.

"Even the dimmest bulb wouldn't stop searching at the living room," a prediction. "Unless either of us can obscure ourselves beneath the covers – and only one even has a chance…" a smack on his arm. "I think we are out of luck."

Indeed, Jinx was not prone to giving up so quickly.

"Dears? Anybody home?!"

Mary sighed so loudly that Beatrix, who had been napping up near her chest, actually jumped and went to find a more secure place to sleep.

"Back here mom!" she called grudgingly.

Marshall bestowed a pat on Mary's elbow even though she'd just slapped his bones, "Good woman."

"Don't these people understand the concept of solitude?" she hissed. "I am sick of them barging in like they own the place."

"Now-now; Jinx wouldn't be your mother if she didn't dash through doors with the best of them," he figured. "It's high time we made our peace with it; being a grandmother will only increase the visits."

Mary emitted another grunt, "Damn straight."

But, their undercover efforts were put to an untimely end when the door gave a squeak on its hinges and Jinx stuck her head in, similar to how she'd done so when Stan had come to call. She batted her eyelashes ingenuously, like she meant no harm by not knocking and expecting her pregnant daughter and overworked would-be-son-in-law to drop everything in favor of some petty chitchat.

"What's up mom?" Mary proposed none-too-genially, knowing both her and Marshall looked a little worse for wear.

Jinx stepped all the way inside, and the blonde saw that she came bearing gifts. There was an old shoebox in her hands, and Mary didn't even want to think about what might be inside it. If she had to deal with any more nursery fundamentals, she might puke.

"I just wanted to drop this by…" the mother waggled the box invitingly, but then gave a tinkling giggle as she noticed Marshall practically with his head on Mary's chest to reach the bag of peas disengaging his eye. "Don't you two look cozy…" an evocative wink. "I'm not interrupting anything, am I?"

If you wanted to take calculations, it was highly plausible Jinx interrupted almost every time she came to Mary's house, but it wouldn't do any good to point this out.

"What have you got?" she chose not to answer her mother's indicative question. "Nice wrapping job," she jerked her head at the shoebox.

"Oh, nothing important…"

Then why was she here?

"Marshall…" she squinted puzzlingly. "What is that on your head? What are you holding, Mary?"

It would be faster to simply show her and make up an excuse than to try and evade the frozen vegetables plastered to Marshall's face. The daughter raised the bag off his skin, revealing the ghastly bruise around his right lid. It was tinted a dark purple at the moment, though Mary knew the shade would fade to yellow with time. They were just lucky Marshall knew how to duck when a fist came his way; although Keith's knuckles had connected, the swelling hadn't taken effect and he could still open and close both eyes.

Jinx gasped, but not too theatrically, "Oh, no!" her hand went to her mouth for a split second. "What happened?"

Marshall shrugged it off, "Just a little mishap at work. It looks much worse than it is."

"You poor thing…" Jinx crooned apologetically. "Looks like you have someone taking care of you though," an affectionate look Mary's direction as she dropped the shoebox onto the bed. "In some cultures, don't they call that 'nesting?'"

Mary mimed poking a finger down her throat, "Not the culture we practice in _this_ house."

"Nesting more commonly refers to reorganizing or tidying the home of the mother," Marshall spouted, probably on auto-pilot. "I've never really heard of nurturing being a factor, although one never knows," raising his eyebrows at his partner.

"Well, if it _were_ nesting," Jinx went on, completely ignoring the disgusted looks from her daughter. "It would mean the babies aren't far away!" barely disguised joy tingled in every word of her speech.

"You bite your tongue," the mom-to-be chastised. And then, figuring now was as good a time as any, "Bed rest is a feature in my imminent future. Looks like the twins' lungs aren't where they should be just yet."

The would-be-casual tone to her voice did not even dupe Jinx, who was not the most perceptive person in the world. Her eyes sunk and she gave a mock moping look reminiscent of Brandi, but with more earnestness behind it.

"I'm sorry, honey," she expressed at once. "It would've been such a relief for you to know they could come at any time and be healthy."

Indeed it would've been, but that wasn't the reality Mary was in at the moment. Jinx saying it in plain English made it smart more fiercely, somehow, though she knew that was not her mother's intent. The incident with Keith had mostly shoved the amnio results onto the backburner, which had been pleasing during the day, but now that it was late and she was tired, Mary felt that fidgety feeling returning to her intestines.

"Well, there's nothing I can do about it," she stated matter-of-factly. "Except rest once Doctor Reese says it's time."

Jinx nodded firmly, "You know Brandi and I will be able to run out and get you anything you need – and keep you company too."

"Just what I always wanted," Mary quipped, but she topped it off with a mischievous grin. "But, thanks."

The brunette took the joke in stride, and between Marshall's wound and Mary's melancholy, it seemed she was struck by the vibe that the pair of them would rather be alone than entertaining a busybody like herself. Although, it was doubtful Jinx would consider herself intrusive – she held herself far too high in esteem.

"All right you two…" she presented in her usual chirping tone. "I should be getting on my way. I just wanted to drop off that box of pictures," she indicated the carton on the bed. "Brandi and I were thinking about putting some up in the nursery to add to the décor, but we wanted to frame the ones you like. Just, take a look when you can."

"Fantastic idea," Marshall acclaimed, for he knew what the design was and could choose accordingly. "We definitely will."

"Have a good night mom," Mary imparted, showing that she would not be sticking around to moon over photo after photo. "See you soon."

A simpering smirk, "Love you, sweetheart," a girlish wave. "Goodnight Marshall."

"Goodnight Jinx."

And, to Mary's utter amazement, her mother actually left – no dawdling, no excuses about organizing the babies' closets or sorting out blankets from her various dance moms at the studio. It was probably the fastest exit Jinx had ever made.

Unfortunately, it also didn't last. The minute she was out the door, Mary's phone went off on the end table, extracting a heinous growl from Mary herself. Her life was starting to remind her of a revolving door. Once one person got through, another just pushed their way in without invitation, and she had to act if she wanted to make it out alive.

"The fun never ends," Marshall drawled unexpectedly from beside her, just as the front door shut with a slam, signaling Jinx's retreat.

"Here…" Mary handed him the frozen peas stingily. "Hold that for a minute while I see who clearly does not value their life if they're calling me at this hour," though the sun hadn't even gone down entirely.

Marshall accepted the sack meant to decrease his throbbings and compressed it to his face as Mary had been doing. She retrieved the phone from beside the lamp, and promptly threw her head back on her pillow upon seeing Brandi's name flashing on the display.

"Ugh…" she muttered dimly. "So typical."

Marshall seemed to guess, "Brandi?"

"You're good," Mary pointed a jabbing finger. "You want to talk to her?" she held out her Blackberry.

"Ah…" he shook a finger of his own. "I have my purpling face to tend to," this was his way of saying that he was well aware the younger Shannon was not calling to talk to him.

"Coward," Mary complained contemptuously. "I hate you."

"That's your eccentric code for just the opposite."

Still, he did not say the words.

Mary swallowed whatever comeback she wanted to throw at him upon hearing this and tried to get geared up for whatever it was that her sister wanted. Why hadn't she just come with Jinx? They could've killed two birds with one stone and made it a hat trick.

Puffing for air and attempting not to be offended when Marshall made no note of her navigating around, 'I love you,' she hit the talk button and put the phone to her ear.

"What do you need, Squish?" she stated without any sort of overture. "It's been a long day, so hit the important points and get out of my hair."

"Well, aren't you cheerful," Brandi's coarse laugh immediately warbled through the speaker, not at all fearful like she'd been when she'd bothered Mary at work last week. "Trouble in paradise?"

"Marshall and I do not live in the tropics," the older sister spat.

"I could look into it," the man chimed in, which earned him a light smack on the back of his head, rumpling up his already tousled hair.

"I meant 'paradise' in the metaphorical sense," Brandi tweaked her inquiry.

"You can't expect me to buy that you know what 'metaphorical' means," Mary snarked appropriately, but Brandi was hardly insulted; she blew right on through without a care in the world.

"Well, you're lucky I don't have much to report," she proclaimed. "You just said you wanted to know when Mark showed up in New Mexico…"

Oh, shit. She'd forgotten all about that. What had Mary done to the universe to deserve this sort of treatment? Ex-husbands on top of Tripp, twins, and general turmoil she couldn't seem to shake? This was karma of some kind. Not to mention that Mark's appearance immediately made her think of Jamie, who never inspired happy memories.

While she waited for Brandi to finish prattling, Marshall inched on crossed legs to the end of the bed to retrieve the shoebox Jinx had left behind. He removed the top and began sifting through aged photos; Polaroids and stained snapshots tucked among the stacks.

"…He got in this morning; we already had lunch," Brandi resumed. "He wanted to know when you were available – if you are."

Mary debated for a moment. Even though she'd confided in Jinx that she was going to be bolted behind her bedroom door come Friday – in not so many words – she didn't think this was the time to tell Brandi if she wanted to be off the phone before midnight. The other woman would spend hours making plans about what they could do in Mary's 'time off' as if that's what it was, and the pregnant one did not have the patience for it.

She didn't really have the patience for Mark either, but it was a sad fact that what little social life she had was going to come to a screeching halt by the weekend. There was only one thing to do, and she was sour about it already.

"How long is he here for?" Mary asked before committing herself and conceding defeat, swiping her hand over her eyes in frustration.

"Until Monday," Brandi relayed. "I think his conference goes through the end of the week and then he's gonna take Saturday and Sunday to sight-see…" Mary frowned upon hearing this. "Then he's headed back to Jersey."

"Okay…" she sighed slowly, wanting to lose herself in the darkness created by the shield that was her hand. "Tell him I'll meet him for lunch tomorrow."

The pause from Brandi's end indicated that she was nothing short of stunned by Mary's decision to see Mark, and without criticism at that. If only she'd been here in person, and Mary weren't so bushed. She'd be getting an earful about letting Mark run the calendar.

"Really? That soon?" the younger finally said.

"It'll get it over with," Mary rationalized rather coldly.

Brandi chuckled, "Charming," and with sarcasm. "But, good. I'll tell him."

"Good yourself," Mary shot back. "Now hang up."

All this earned her was another cackle, like Mary was trying to be funny by being so forthright, but nothing could be further from the truth. Her head was so jammed, so full to the brim, that she didn't see how it could hold another facet without leaking everything vital out of her subconscious and into the light. It seemed strangely unfair that she had to deal with six thousand different things all at once, only to have them all snatched from her once Friday rolled around – left with nothing to keep her occupied but disappointments of unprofessed love and ominous thoughts of babies born six weeks too soon.

"You're a trip, Mare," Brandi asserted, completely straightforward. "But, I'll leave you alone. I'll e-mail you if Mark can't see you tomorrow."

"Tell him I want to go to that Mexican place on fifth street – noon."

"All right," Brandi agreed. "Talk to you later."

"Mmm hmm."

Surprised for a second time that she'd managed to beat off her family with something less than a ten foot pole, Mary considered having Marshall hide her phone somewhere she wouldn't hear it ring, but knew this was unrealistic. She might only be a Marshal for three more days, give or take, but WITSEC didn't stop for anything. She knew she had to keep the cell nearby in case of those blasted emergencies.

"So…" Marshall cut in upon hearing her hang up. "With whom will you be having lunch tomorrow? I must say, I find an afternoon out a very sane choice during the mid-week hustle and bustle."

"You could just call it 'hump day' like everyone else," Mary batted back. "And, Mark," she got back to his question. "I'm sure he'll have many jokes waiting in the wings about the 'hump' part of Wednesday."

Marshall took this in stride, still thumbing through pictures, "Raunchy," he said bluntly. "But, I like to think Mark has grown up a bit since your youthful romps of yesteryear."

Mary meant to feign retching, but the laugh she'd tried to squelch erupted anyway. It felt good to do something so spontaneous, to surrender to impulse and let loose.

"Youthful romps of yesteryear," she reiterated slowly and deliberately, so Marshall couldn't miss a beat; she was satisfied to see him go faintly pink. "Seriously, Marshall. Who else but you talks like that?"

"It makes me unique," he covered up his blushing quite well. "Glad to see you've noticed."

"Only when I really concentrate," Mary wouldn't give him the fulfillment of being right. "Bring those up here," pointing at the open box near his knees. "I can't figure out what sort of pictures Jinx thinks would go well in Frick's and Frack's room, but I guess I'm curious."

Marshall gathered the prints he'd been perusing and crawled back to the head of the bed, box in tow, to share the contents with his partner. As he organized, he moved the bag of peas aside, allowing them to melt onto his pillowcase for a moment so he could use both hands.

Instinct struck Mary and she reached out with each of her palms, cradling his face to get a dead look at his blooming shiner. It was indeed a very deep shade of plum, mottled with dark blues and grays; an almost perfect circle around his normally brightened cerulean eyes. Even the whites of his orbs seemed slightly bloodshot, as though Keith's knuckles had punctured a few veins. Marshall seemed taken aback by her affection, but didn't say anything to indicate as such.

"Does it feel any better?" Mary wanted the nitty-gritty, tilting his face left to right so she could see the bump in the light. "It really hasn't swelled that badly…"

"It's a touch sore," he admitted with a nonchalant lift of his shoulders. "But bearable. By tomorrow it will be really impressive though; I'll look like I was slammed by a boxer."

"I'm telling you…" Mary swore, forgetting her interest in the photos. "If I'd been over there when Keith had smacked you…"

"You'd have been smart and stayed out of it," Marshall finished the sentence for her, not wanting his pregnant girl to get any ideas. "And anyway, he didn't mean to smack me; he was after Tripp. Not that that's much better."

"What a clown," she griped in a superior tone. "Stan filed a restraining order on behalf of the kids, although it'll be moot once they leave town."

"It will keep Keith away from the funeral, at least," Marshall forever saw the glass as half full. "And, fortuitously, Tripp has some mothers from Gretel's school helping with the service. The principal over there got wind of what happened and arranged a group to get him through that."

"Good…" Mary nodded, reassured that this was one less thing they would have to take care of. "Great."

But, mention of Tripp made her stomach churn, and one of the kids – near her midsection, so probably the boy – gave an inopportune jostle, like he wasn't so keen on this subject either. Mary received an elbow to the apex of her belly before her son settled down; his sister had been almost motionless since her descent into the depths.

"So, what does Jinx think we want to showcase for the whole world to see?" she grabbed the shoebox in a flourish to distract Marshall from the Sullivans. "In the twins' room, no less."

"Ah, if only you knew the theme," Marshall swayed a very ostentatious finger in her face. "You'd be singing a different tune. Pictures are the perfect addition."

"Are you _trying_ to taunt me?" Mary wondered.

"Merely pledging my undying confidence that photographs will not be brashly distracting amongst all the furnishings your mother, my father, and your sister have in mind."

"Whatever," she sputtered mulishly, and without further ado she dove into the carton, trying to pilot away from nagging Marshall incessantly about wallpaper and mobiles.

He wiggled closer to her on the bed, dumping the dripping vegetables onto the bedside table, as they both wanted to forgo treating the abrasion so they could snicker and moan over all the snapshots scattered within. Mary spent a lot of time shoving away the images of herself and Brandi as children, because she spotted ones of Marshall among the piles, and they were far more interesting.

"Why are there pictures of you?" she questioned, taking several in her fingers before he could swipe them away. "This box belongs to Jinx. Trust me; I've seen it stuffed in her various closets over the years," it was beaten and worn around the edges; the faded brand rubbing off the sides. It reminded Mary of the tin in her own closet that she kept her father's letters in.

"Well, I told you my dad was in on this," Marshall brought up. "Last I heard, he was going to send a few. Jinx must've added them to the selection."

Mary quit listening when she came upon an illustration that made her drop the other pictures she was hoarding and take a closer look.

It was Marshall – or so she assumed – around six or seven years of age. It was Christmas morning; she could see an evergreen sparkling with white lights behind him, along with Seth half asleep in an armchair, his mouth hanging open. Marshall wore long johns in a faded cream color, printed with something that Mary couldn't make out because the slick surface was so aged. There was a thousand-watt smile on his face, beaming as he held his gift under his chin – a toy fire truck. His brown hair was far shorter than it was now, nearly concealing his squinting eyes – as blue as the day she'd met him.

"How old are you here?" Mary flashed the evidence Marshall's direction.

He grinned, "Four."

"Four?" she glanced back at the photo, gawking this time. "You look like you could be at least eight!"

"I was a tall four," he insisted. "Sprouted like a weed in springtime, as my mom likes to say."

This explained why he was so long and lanky in present day.

"That's a nice outfit," Mary joshed, ridiculing his long underwear. "Where are your snow pants to go over 'em?"

"They belonged to my brother – one of them, anyway," Marshall explained. "Lots of hand-me-downs when you're the youngest of three."

Mary wanted to say something about how she'd had her share of hand-me-downs, and she'd been the oldest child, but she was enjoying falling into his perfect childhood too much to ruin it.

"And you wanted a fire truck?"

"You know, I went through a few phases…" he slipped the picture out of Mary's fingers to give it the once-over. "When you're a kid, you get the standard question, 'What do you want to be when you grow up?'"

Mary supposed most kids did, but she'd been grown-up by the age of seven.

"I bounced between sheriff, fireman, policeman, solider, but finally I gave in…" he smirked at his childlike features from years long gone. "Just said I wanted to be dad and covered all the bases."

Mary smiled at this as well, and then turned back to the container, shifting snapshots aside to see if there were others from this particular Christmas. As a pleasant surprise, she discovered three more, these with appearances from Marshall's older brothers – Travis and Carson. She had yet to meet either one of them, but knew Travis surpassed Marshall by three years, and Carson by two, so he was not the youngest by much. Nonetheless, he was still his mother's fair-haired child; the baby who could do no wrong.

Gazing at the pictures, she was struck by how faultless they all seemed, though she knew there was no such thing. The ornery older Manns, goosing Marshall and grabbing him around the waist; cheesing for the camera, which Laura was likely behind. Seth, gruff but always physically present, standing like a sentinel in the background. Matching pajamas, stuffed stockings, twinkling lights and cubed packages under a shining tree. The family from a magazine.

"None of these are particularly suited to the nursery…" Marshall remarked through Mary's internal babble. "I trust you will take my word for it. But, I'm sure dad mailed something appropriate…" nose back in the box.

"I like the one of you and the fire truck," Mary spoke up, going with her original choice. "It's cute."

Marshall lifted one eyebrow, "Cute? Really? I wasn't aware that was a term you were very fond of."

"Oh, spare me," Mary took the picture back from him, tossing it to the bed so it would not get mixed with the others. "A token, you know? You don't think our son will want to be, 'just like daddy?'"

Marshall was unable to fight being rather touched and cocked his head, "That's being ambitious," he knew getting sentimental would only annoy Mary. "And, I only wanted to be my father because I was nothing like him. I spent my entire life trying to worm my way beneath the exterior. If I embodied him, surely I'd figure it out." A despondent smile, "I'm still waiting."

Mary took the box in two hands this time, pondering what Marshall had just said. What must it be like to have a dad you admired so deeply? She tried to envision herself in the four-year-old Marshall's form, tagging along after Seth, stars in his eyes and a badge in his heart. If only he could be as grand as daddy, life would be complete.

"You guys aren't so different," she voiced apathetically, forcing herself to stop and survey a few shots from her Jersey duplex, though seeing such pictures gave her the same restless feeling in her gut when she thought of the twins making their appearance. "You and Seth. Full of morals and principles and ethics. More alike than me and my father, anyway."

And, as though she'd summoned him, there he was, his lopsided grin burnishing against the Polaroid; carefree and haughty – exactly as Mary remembered.

"You are only basing these assumptions on the current Seth Mann," Marshall blathered on, neglecting to note that Mary's thoughts had traveled back to the 1970's; far-far away from him. "My dad is a comfortable shell of his former self. The real Seth – the brusque, no-nonsense one – still resides within."

Mary was on his lap at the kitchen table – the one where they'd shared stale Oreos and wisdom, or whatever it was her father had spewed at her. The sloppy ponytail high on her head was her own handiwork; it fell to one side, wound by a workman's rubber band. Jinx had never bought her real hair bands, but forced her to use the ones she'd tightened around stacks of money or envelopes full of bills. They'd been brown and chewy; unforgiving when she'd ripped them from her mane of blonde, snagging strands that fell to the ground.

"I like to think I exemplify the more enriching qualities in my father – the ones he is displaying in retirement."

Mary's legs were crossed and so were her ankles so she'd fit on James' knee; her bones were knobbly and skinny, underfed. She wore the red plaid shirt she'd treasured, buttoning it up morning after morning no matter how dirt-streaked the checks became. Her jeans were cuffed on the ends, and still too short for her growing legs; bare ankle peeked out beneath the denim.

"But, then again, we all like to think we only obtain the greatest attributes from our parents; that the negative seeps out over time."

Her head fit perfectly next to his chin; all her teeth showed. It was a smile of pure joy, of bliss – the million kisses, sun, and moon James had forever promised her. She was radiating from being in his presence, for even then she had known how rare they were. In her glowing green eyes, emerald like the most extraordinary jewels, there was nothing but ecstasy. She was with her daddy. He held her close. His large, warm hands encompassed her against his chest. His favorite. His little girl. His Mary.

"Are you listening?"

Marshall's voice was a distant hum; a loitering whirr from the bottom of a gully; a shout from the highest mountain. Slowly, an invisible rope pulled Mary back – her father walking out the door, Jinx smashing empty liquor bottles, and Brandi bawling in her crib.

The jerk back to reality was harsh, and Marshall's befuddled face swam indistinctly in front of her own. It was as though someone had pulled her by the scruff of her neck; saved her from drowning at the base of the ocean.

"Um…what?"

Mary was parched, like she'd swallowed a wad of paper and couldn't cough it back up. Apparently, however, her vacant expression and even more vacant response had her partner guessing fairly quickly what had caused her absence from the room.

His eyes strayed to the photo in her hand and even if she'd thought of it, which she didn't, Mary wouldn't have been able to stuff it out of sight in time. Slowly, his hand brought it to their eye-level, so they could both get a cold, hard look at the faces inside.

Faces from another lifetime. Faces Mary didn't know anymore.

That same downcast smile was still on Marshall's face; it clashed coarsely with his black eye.

"Is this your dad?"

Mary nodded, able to inform faster than she would've thought possible, "Yeah."

He fell back on her interview from earlier, "How old are you?"

She was not as quick as he'd been, but she was still pretty sure she remembered, "Five. Maybe six."

Marshall opted to skate over any excess emotion – a gesture Mary would've ordinarily found very kind.

"Well, you are quite the looker. I'm sure the boys were all over you. Such a gorgeous smile…"

But, Mary couldn't hold it in. James' face – the stubble on his chin, the roguish blue of his eyes, the way he clutched her so tightly. Keeping her from harm. Safe. Protected.

The words came when she didn't want them to, speaking right over Marshall's valiant efforts to leave this all behind.

"I miss my dad."

And yet, he stopped as though he'd seen it coming; as though it were written. His arm wound around her back like it had a mind of its own – his lips to her temple likewise.

"I know."

His understanding was enough. Mary knew not what else to say. What else was there? Marshall had lived the fairytale childhood. Tripp was being deported halfway around the country. Her babies weren't plugging along the way she had hoped. Sometimes, when the stressors became so overwhelming, when the walls closed in, there was only one thing Mary perceived to be able to 'make it all better.' True or not.

She wanted her dad. She missed her dad. She _still_ missed her dad.

XXX

**A/N: I always manage to work pictures into every story – I think I like describing them too much! Just as a head's up, I may not be able to post for the next few days; I'm not sure yet. Those of you who are familiar with my stories know that they're always completely written before I start posting (that's why I'm able to post a chapter a night). But, I'm going on a little vacation for the next few days and I'm not sure if/when I'll be able to put up chapters. Hopefully, I'll still find time to do it, but if not I will be back on Friday! XOXO**


	29. Chapter 29

**A/N: I made it! I had a lonnnnnng first day of vacation with a cancelled flight in the middle of it all (never something I want to mess with again!) But, I made it where I was going and even found a spare minute to update you guys. One of the great things about being away from the Internet all day is that I come back to so many reviews!**

XXX

Come Wednesday afternoon, Mary was not all together shocked to find she was not really up to lunch with Mark, regardless of what she'd told her sister. Customarily, she would've chalked the queasiness up to butterflies at having to make nice with her ex-husband, but she didn't think that was the case on this go around. While used to feeling 'funny' since the day she'd learned she was pregnant, Mary had the distinct impression that this nausea was something different. It wasn't even really nausea, as the rolling, barfing feeling she usually got that accompanied tossing her cookies wasn't prominent. It was something else.

There was a strange sort of heat in her lower back, as though waves were coursing through her vertebrae, gyrating the bones rigidly against one another. Pain that usually went away when Mary changed positions or walked around had become constant overnight. A similar gripping persisted in her abdomen, also lower than normal; a viselike clasp had taken hold of her muscles and seemed to be wringing them out, like water in a towel.

The result was that Mary was not fun company for Mark, who showed up at her door with an immense taco salad when she'd had Brandi tell him lunch would have to be postponed. She invited him in, knowing that wanting to nap didn't mean it was a reasonable goal. Contenting herself with listening rather than talking, the old lovers set up shop at the front table, Mark plowing his way through a burrito the size of boat.

"You really didn't have to bring me lunch," Mary informed him for what felt like the fifth or sixth time. "We could've rescheduled," though the product of that would probably be a meeting just like this over the weekend, given that her bed would be calling her name by Friday.

"Oh, it was no trouble," Mark alleged easily. "I always like someone to talk to when I'm sick."

One of the many reasons the pair of them had not been married for very long.

"Well, I'm not really sick," Mary corrected him. "I'm more…"

What, exactly? Under-the-weather? That was the same as being sick. Not one hundred percent, for certain, but still not the right phrasing. Being chewed up and spit out by her own children? Closer. Preparing for battle? Even better.

Mark finished the sentence for her, "The size of a triple-decker-bus?"

She scowled, "Nice. Really charismatic."

"Hey, I tell it like it is, cranky," Mark was unrepentant, shoveling in forkfuls of ground beef. "If it helps, you are by far the most unbelievable-looking triple-decker-bus I've ever seen."

"I wasn't aware there was a competition," Mary countered, only picking at her taco salad; the cramps in her belly had zapped her appetite. "Or that you frequently stepped onto buses and donned them, 'unbelievable,'" repeating the term on purpose and inclining her eyebrows to show Mark that this was an old come-on if ever she'd heard it.

"Are you trying to tell me that my flirting has lost its touch?"

"It was lost on me a long time ago."

Mark placed a hand over his heart and sent her a gaping smile in mock-offense, "I'm wounded! Truly wounded. I thought you had a special place in your heart for your dear old ex."

"A special place, maybe," Mary narrowed her eyes at him. "Who said it was in my heart?"

This time, Mark was the one who glowered, "Did you mean for that to sound obscene? Because it kind of does."

She shook her head slowly, causing the lettuce and cheese in the crackling bowl to blur her vision. This was not a good sign and she shut her eyes temporarily, hoping the wooliness would cease quickly. She and Marshall did not need to make any emergency trips to the OBGYN.

"Guess I'm a little off my game," she admitted drowsily, blinking once or twice at her food and continuing to dump onions on top of lettuce to make a show of tasting it.

Mark wasn't fooled, "I thought you must be. Do you plan on eating that?" shaking his fork at the salad. "I sort of figured with two extra mouths to feed you'd be extra-hungry. Maybe I don't know as much about pregnant women as I thought I did."

"No…" Mary stated for no real reason, as she wasn't trying to contradict him or her eating habits. "I've had a pretty testy pregnancy; a lot of stuff makes me throw up," she couldn't believe she was talking about this with Mark, of all people. "Anything from this Mexican place is usually safe, but I'm not craving it today." Staring sadly at the meal he'd been so considerate to bring her, "Sorry."

"No, that's okay," Mark obviously hadn't meant to make her feel badly; he'd only been teasing. "Don't eat it if you're not hungry. I can't promise I'm much of an expert at holding hair back or whatever husbands do when their broads are running for the toilet," he rattled off in a less-than-lyrical manner. "But, you could enlighten me just in case," getting back to his burrito. "What does Marshall do when you puke?"

For a fleeting moment, Mary deliberated over who else but Mark could talk about vomiting over lunch and not feel ill at the prospect. But then, she reflected over his claimed inadequacies a little more thoroughly, and only one word in the whole shooting match seemed to reach her brain.

Bravely, she scooped up some corn and poked it into her mouth.

"Marshall isn't my husband."

Ugh. Did she have to sound so passive? It was disgusting.

So was the corn. The little kernels seemed to linger on her tongue long after she'd swallowed, and corn had almost no taste to begin with. Though Mary knew her digestive tract did not work so speedily, she could've sworn the tiny seeds dropped down her throat, settling heavily among her already confined tummy.

"Well, he's as good as," Mark replied, not noticing her revolted features since she'd tried ingesting something. "He's such a stand-up guy – Marshall. I'm sure he says all the right things I never said," though there was no regret in his tone. "I bet he's already sworn he'd, 'be pregnant for you' if he could."

Actually, Marshall had said nothing of the sort – probably because he knew Mary would clock him if he did. But, that wasn't what the woman was thinking about at present. The introduction of the corn – or maybe it was merely coincidence – had caused an uproar in her uterus. The vise tautened its hold on her weight and gave a violent, brutal squeeze, causing a stab to her midsection so shocking that she pushed her lunch clear out of the way, as though meager smells had been the source of the riot.

"Mare?"

But, Mark might as well have not been there – he was white noise amongst the piercing pressure being exerted in her stomach. What was this? It reminded Mary of the Braxton Hicks contractions she was so accustomed to, but there was something unusual about the pain all the same. It felt like it was moving, thrusting and eating its way through her flesh like a parasite on the run.

"Mare?" Mark repeated. "Are you okay?"

Mary doubted she looked 'okay.' She'd plunked her elbow onto the tabletop and pressed her palm into her forehead, eyes screwed shut as she fought the tremor, but it only seemed to mount; to escalate as the seconds went by. Without meaning to, the woman heard a whimper escape her mouth, followed by a breath that took every ounce of stamina she had to release.

Mark, unfortunately, was more confused than ever – and the whine was all he'd heard.

"What's the matter?" he sounded scared; Mary gleaned that much as the flare finally began to trickle down. "Can I help you? I really will; I was only kidding…"

Sweet of him, Mary thought, but there was nothing he could do. The inhales and exhales came easier as the knife lost its intensity – as did Mary's ability to speak.

"I'm all right…" she gasped, knowing she was trying to convince herself more than Mark. "I'm fine…"

He shook his head, which was a dizzying effect on her strained concentration, "You don't look all right. Do you want me to call Marshall?"

"No," she was firm on that, knowing her man would have a cow if he got this type of call while at work. "No; it happens all the time…"

Sort of.

"I swear. I'm good."

And she was even able to look the part as the contraction died away, leaving in its place the old, mild cramping she'd been experiencing since she'd woken up. Mark still looked beyond skeptical, especially given that the hand on her forehead was shaking slightly from exertion. Still, Mary brushed her bangs aside and tried to look natural, though her heart rate had definitely picked up.

"_That_ happens all the time?" the man wanted to know, his boyish eyes very round and warm; a perfect shade of chocolate to rival even Stan's. "For all nine months? You're sure tougher than me."

"Come on," Mary didn't need to be flattered this way. "I'm only nine months this week, so you've got that part wrong. And, 'all the time' is relative. You know what I mean."

So she wouldn't have to look at him, she pulled her lunch back to her chest, though she had no idea why. She had no plans to eat it now, not if she could expect to be slammed like she just had at the sheer taste of corn or cheese.

"You sure you don't need anything?" Mark egged her on; he clearly was not as schooled in these matters as Marshall, who knew what was routine and what was cause for unease. "Maybe a glass of water or something?"

Glaring, his ex wife raised the glass she already had, the ice melting fast and creating rings on the wooden surface. It had only been August for three days, and already the warmth was virtually stifling her.

"Right," Mark nodded with a nervous chuckle at her beverage. "Just checking. I should get all the practice I can now," averting his eyes back to his overflowing burrito.

However, this throwaway line was not missed by Mary, who was glad to have something to focus on besides whatever detonation was taking place in her belly. Elbowing her dish aside for the second time, she squinted at Mark, using her wily Marshal skills to bully his secrets out of him.

"Practice for what?" she insinuated slyly. "Don't tell me you knocked up some chick on a street corner and now you have to pay up."

Mark snorted, "Now who's charming?"

Well, Mary wasn't known for handling with kid gloves. Mark would do well to remember it. That was why she shrugged him off and waited for the details.

"No, fatherhood is not in my future," he disputed briskly, munching loudly on the onions concealed in his wrap. "Not my immediate future, anyway." And then, purposefully blasé, "I did meet someone though."

Now Mary scooted her chair back, her inspecting cleverness in full flow. She studied Mark's face for precursors to what might be coming. What sort of girl could he have met? It was true that he had been quite the Romeo in their younger years, but she'd tried to allow Marshall's hints about Mark maturing with time to follow her. She'd wanted to give him a chance, but this turn of events brought all sardonic comments right back to the forefront of her mind. The aching spell was forgotten.

"Oh?" she started out, trying to work her features into something resembling virtue. "Who's the lucky lady? A fry cook? A manicurist? I still haven't ruled out gypsies on the sidewalk…"

"You know, I find it hard to believe that I ever found the way you demean others at all attractive," diverting from the real issue. "Why would you consider a fast food worker or a salon owner beneath you?"

"I don't," Mary insisted at once. "They were just guesses. Besides, I know your taste. Bimbos. That's your taste."

"You shouldn't talk about yourself that way," he counteracted her argument with a conniving smirk.

"I was the exception," Mary prided herself on that. "I was thinking more of my sister, who definitely fit the bill of the gum-chewing types you usually go for."

"Would you stop implying that I was interested in Brandi when she was like, nine years old?" Mark threw up his hands, as this squabble was forever revisited every time he showed his face in Albuquerque. "Besides, she's a married gal these days."

"But, are you about to be a married guy?" she mediated for the actual question, dismissing her own wedding-woes as of late; she was much more interested in Mark's endeavors than in her own.

But, despite her heightened antagonism in irritating the man about his current love life, she did not expect to see him go silent – to shuffle in his seat, to cross and uncross his ankles, to give every impression that he had something to hide. He even cleared his throat several times, though said nothing while Mary dissected every inch of his body language. All of it told her only one thing.

She hadn't been serious, but could she have inadvertently stumbled upon the truth? Was it possible? Had Mark settled down – shacked up, tied the knot? The only way she saw him was as a reckless twenty-two-year-old, who had romanced her teenage self into impulsive nuptials far before her time. Had he found the one he really wanted to be with? His soul mate?

He couldn't have.

"Mark," she practically attacked him with his own name, leaning her chin in her hand on the table. "Are you…?"

It wasn't her job to say the word, even as she scrunched her eyebrows and waited for him to make the leap.

"Are you…?"

A quiet sigh surfaced from somewhere in his chest, and he finally took his stare off his lunch to give Mary his full attention. He was met with a mystified, naïve appearance from the woman, like she couldn't believe what she was about to hear.

But, believe it or not; the smile molded, lightening his warm, sweetened gaze of dark brown.

"I…I am, actually," an edgy chortle. And finally, "I'm engaged."

Mary might've been anticipating it on some level – at least in the last two minutes – but the announcement still seemed to reach her on a delay. She knew she still had a look of shell-shock in her eyes; a stupid half-smirk falling flat on her would-be-innocent face. It did not mesh, somehow. Mark was just a kid – older than her, but still a kid. He was going to hunker down and start a family like the one she was desperately trying to hold together?

"You um…you gonna say something?" he pushed, still with that rickety giggle.

Mary supposed she should, "I just…" her head moved side-to-side in incredulity. "Wow…" he lost a little of his tension now that she was speaking. "I didn't…" unsure where that was headed, she sidetracked. "What…what's her name?"

"Rebecca," he supplied; a fail-free retort.

She ought to prod for more, "And what…what does she do?" for real this time.

"She manages a chain of clothing stores up on the east coast; she's one of their big wigs."

"How'd you meet her?" Mary did not mean to be so interrogative, but she also wanted to appear supportive.

"I did some solar panel work on her house," Mark explained, and this added up. "She's divorced – she has a son, Robbie. He's eight."

This was said with an air of jadedness, like he expected Mary to rake him over the coals for getting involved with a woman who had a child and came with baggage, but it was the furthest thing from her mind. Now she understood where that 'practice' jibe had come from. Mark might not be turning into a father – but a step-father. In some ways, she imagined this was much-much harder. He would have to win this boy over, and make countless, nonstop efforts to be a positive, loyal force in his life. That was a tall order and suddenly, Mark didn't seem so young anymore.

"Wow," Mary said again, shy about how she should voice her concern for him – not to mention her congratulations and admiration for taking this on. "Mark, that's a big step. You're gonna be raising a kid."

"Well, I'm trying," he declared with a modest shrug. "It's been pretty rocky."

"Bad vibes between you and the little one?"

"He doesn't want me to be his dad," the man confessed darkly. "And I don't want to be his dad either. For some reason, he still thinks I'm trying to though."

"I'm sure he'll come around," Mary promoted, much more optimistically than she typically would, but she wanted Mark to believe her. "Deep down, I bet he likes you and he just doesn't want you to know it."

"If that's true, he's a damn good actor," the other guffawed. "But…" he sent Mary an enigmatic, winning smile. "I hope you're right. His mom really wants to bring us together, which is good. By the time we get hitched, maybe he'll have made his peace with it."

Mary took note of his phrasing, "You have a date set already?"

He nodded, "March. Hopefully the weather will have warmed up; we're thinking of doing it outside."

"That…that's nice," Mary bestowed humanely. "I'm…really happy for you Mark. Congrats."

She couldn't say for sure what was causing her to be so generous – to bequeath well-wishes free of snide remarks and cynicism. Just that, she'd begun to see Mark in a new light since the events of the year before. Yes, she still gave him garbage about being a juvenile little boy, but that was the extent of it. She'd discerned his unfailing kindness, his affection that went beyond kisses on the cheek at the door, and the way he still came to see her from half a country away.

After all, if not for Mark, she'd have never had Jamie – in whatever capacity she'd held him. Too much had stemmed from Jamie for her not to be grateful.

"Thanks," he said simply. "I hope you and Marshall will come to the wedding – bring the kids. I'd love to see them."

So would Mary, but twins in March were far past her mental capacity at the moment. They'd be, at the most, seven months old by then – a staggering thought when Mary couldn't even seem to picture them out of utero. Her life seemed to start and stop with their birth, and committing herself to watching Mark in a tux with a child to take under his wing was asking too much.

"Yeah…maybe," she shrugged, his offer reminding her of when she'd cajoled him to attend Brandi's wedding, which he had. "When it gets closer, we can figure it out…"

But, as rapidly as it had struck just ten minutes before, the one-two-punch was back with a vengeance. So out of the blue, it forced Mary to stop talking midsentence, her right arm migrating to cradle her enormous tummy – a deep-seated hub for all the activity going on under the plane.

It was the same as it had been prior, only this time was almost more jarring, because Mary had been scared the pain would return. It was a burning and scorching in her abdomen, coupled with that same tightening sensation seizing all her muscles. Her hands balled themselves into fists, wishing Mark was not there to watch, but he saw every cower and contortion.

"Hang on…" pitifully, Mary tried to save face and ward him off.

But, Mark left his seat, playing the white knight and bustling to meet Mary on the other side of the table.

"Can you breathe?" he asked honestly, truly with no idea what was going on.

Mary knew she could, even if she _couldn't_, and nodded, rubbing her stomach, doing everything she could to subside the twinge, but as it was before, it only spiraled upward. Dimly, she registered that Mark's hand was on her shoulder, feeling the rigidity in her stance. Breathing, as he'd questioned, had never become a harder task.

"I'm just…" verbalizing was idiotic; it made her feel faint and wasted precious air. "It…it hurts…" she could not have said such a thing to Marshall, and a moan eked out without her consent.

"I…I'm sorry," Mark didn't know what else to do, but he patted her shoulder lovingly. "I…I'm sure it'll go away."

Well, Mary wasn't so sure. It was a commotion that took her out of herself, where the world was nothing but biting pain to overcome; a mountain too tall to climb. She couldn't think of anything else while she grappled with it; the sights and sounds nearby became distorted and everything bathed in a smoky hazy. No matter how she reached, tried with all her might to snatch the wisps, she lost and fell another ten feet down, shrieking from the blade that penetrated her skin.

"I need…"

It took everything in her power to speak just those two words, and they went absolutely nowhere. She'd been about to say, 'I need Marshall,' but rethought her decision with whatever thinking authority she retained. Mark would hop right to it, and they'd just be making a big deal out of nothing.

"What?" he crouched down, supposing that he hadn't heard correctly.

But, the force was leaving – it was flying away, disappearing in the stratosphere. How could something so atrocious evaporate so quickly? It seemed to go against the laws of nature. Mary didn't understand it, but for the moment she was just glad it was gone.

Her knotted face must've let loose, because Mark relaxed and took a step back, though he looked more traumatized than ever.

"See?" Mary hurled out before he could bombard her. "Nothing. It's nothing."

"Mare, I know nothing, and that's not it," he wasn't buying her sorry stories. "I really think you should let Marshall know…"

But, speak of the devil – there he was. The front door gave its telltale clicks that meant it was being unlocked, and Marshall strode right through the frame, tossing his keys, cell phone, and sunglasses onto the coffee table. Mary was so surprised she actually pushed Mark to one side with her hand, like she was about to be caught doing something lewd. In truth, she simply did not want to give her partner the impression that something was wrong, but had no time to tell the staggering Mark what her motives were.

"Hi!" Marshall called, drained but merry. "I hope I'm not intruding on your little reunion, but…"

"You're not," Mary interrupted before he could complete his comment, and while his back was turned she made frantic hand gestures toward her ex, urging him to get further away from her so Marshall wouldn't suspect anything. "Mark and I were just finishing lunch."

"I'm sorry I missed it," Marshall stated while Mark cast Mary bewildered looks; when he was as far as the counter, she gave him the thumbs up and put a finger to her lips. "And food from that Mexican place on fifth too," he spotted Mary's uneaten taco salad once he meandered into the kitchen.

"You didn't miss much," his woman informed him grumpily. "You're welcome to mine," holding up her plate.

Marshall found nothing odd about this, "Pregnancy idiosyncrasies," he raised his hands, palms up to designate he was going with the flow. "New ones every day." Dropping the persona and helping himself to a spoonful of beef and lettuce, "Mark, good to see you."

"You too, Marshall…" still shooting Mary bamboozled glances; he stepped around the table and held out his hand. "I feel like I kind of showed up at a bad time, with the babies coming and everything…"

"Oh, baloney," the inspector waved a cavalier hand after shaking Mark's. "We are more than happy to see you. What is life without the unexpected visit once in awhile? Keeps things from getting dull."

"Well, he is definitely not that," Mary piped up, keeping her seat and praying with every fiber of her being that the disturbance would not return now that Marshall had arrived. "Tell him your news, Mr. Blue Birds and Bells."

Mark chuckled sheepishly, but Marshall looked from the ex, to Mary, and back again, positively delighted that there was something to share.

"News, you say?" he proposed. "Do tell – do tell, indeed!"

"Uh, well…" Mark coughed unnecessarily, visibly still shaken from Mary's contractions and working hard to cover it up. "I um…I'm getting married – March twenty-first."

Predictably, Marshall gawked in his typical joyous way, "You don't say! That is fantastic! Congratulations," they shook hands for a second time.

"Thank-you," Mark swallowed, suddenly very awkward like he couldn't wait to leave. "Thanks. I'm inheriting a step-son too, so it'll be an adventure all around."

"I'm sure you'll be an accomplished father – or father-figure, at the very least," the taller declared boldly, no hesitation whatsoever. "And, a wedding," a wobbly, reminiscent sigh broke out. "We're more the significant other style here in New Mexico, but that is wonderful for you. Simply wonderful."

The _'significant other style?'_ What in God's name did _that_ mean? Mary had-had her misgivings about how Marshall really felt about her, but this was unprecedented. He sounded like he was tying them down as mere partners for all eternity. Was he really so against binding them officially that he felt the need to label them as he had? The whole point of not getting married was to avoid labels. What was going on in his head?

"Well, I told Mary that you guys are more than welcome to attend – with the twins of course," Mark gestured haphazardly at his ex-wife.

"We will have to look into that," Marshall asserted.

Quiet wrapped them up for a brief moment, the atmosphere thick with many unsaid contentions – mostly from Mary. Mark was getting married and she never was. She didn't know whether she was going to vomit, pass out, or go into labor first, and she'd take the first two choices a thousand times over before the final one occurred. Marshall plainly had absolutely no interest in walking down the aisle with her. 'I love you' was out of the question. Combine all this with Tripp's catastrophe and the fact that Maureen's funeral was the next day; you might as well just shoot Mary on the spot.

"Well…I should probably get going," Mark eventually cut in, motioning toward the door.

"Don't leave on my account," Marshall insisted. "I had a half hour or so to spare, but then I'm right back to the office."

"No, its fine," the shorter waved this off. "I have a few things I need to do before my conference, so I have plenty to keep me busy."

Both men exchanged goodbyes just as they had exchanged pleasantries, commenting about how they'd all have to get together again soon, how Marshall would love to meet Rebecca sometime before the wedding; Mark granting them luck with the twins. Mary only tuned back in when he stepped back over to say farewell to her, at which point Marshall retreated over to the fridge for a drink.

"I'll try to stop by again before I leave town," Mark promised, staring down into her pallid face; she was almost chalk-white from feeling so awful, except for the glassiness of her eyes. "You keep those heathens cooking, right?" she'd explained to him when he'd first showed up that it was essential she stay pregnant as long as possible, but his phrasing made her grin.

"I'll do my best." Touching his hand because she did feel badly, "I'm sorry about the spectacle I put on. I didn't mean for you to have to play doctor."

He shrugged, "You couldn't help it. But…" Lowering his voice stealthily, an act that was sure to get Marshall's attention, "You really should say something to him. He'd know what to do…"

"Trust me, he's been privy to every spasm I've had – since day one. This isn't any different."

"I just…" Mark exhaled tiredly and gave her hair a gentle pat. "I'd hate to see something happen to you."

Moved without warning, Mary swallowed and nodded slowly, "Thanks Mark. But, I know myself. I'm being careful. Promise."

Fortunately, he took this for what it was, "Okay. Hopefully I'll see you soon."

And he slung his arm around her shoulders from his standing position, pausing just long enough for his chin to linger on her head, stroking tenderly up and down her arm. It all happened very fast, because Mark knew how Mary generally shied away from affection, but when he backed up, she was kind enough to stretch her neck and peck his cheek.

"Bye."

He topped this off with a smirk and a flush, "Bye."

And as Mary watched him stroll through the living room and out the front door, she couldn't help visualizing Mark as some kind of milestone. He left on Monday, Brandi had said, and she could only beg to keep her children internalized until that time. She'd be thirty-four weeks by that point – just three away from forecasted viability, six from full-term. While she would love for Mark to meet the twins before he returned to Jersey, she still hoped he wouldn't get the chance until the fated March. Hope was all she had left to go on.

But, if she kept feeling as 'funny' as she had been thus far, the likelihood of delivering twins shot through the roof, taking Mary's fears right along with it.

XXX

**A/N: I am always completely unashamed in my love of Mark and I suppose this story is no exception. It is my hope that I will be able to continue to post in the coming days because, trust me when I tell you, this would be a bad place to leave you hanging! ;)**


	30. Chapter 30

**A/N: I know I am SUPER late, but I'm just glad I'm able to post at all! Especially this chapter – it's long, so hopefully that makes up for my absence today!**

XXX

Mary knew the minute she woke up on Thursday morning that she was in trouble. The question was, what kind of trouble and how big. The feeling of foreboding stole over her like a blanket, causing all her nerves to jangle, her heart to palpitate, all accompanied by the same weird, crunching ache she'd been bowled over by the day before. Yet, once again, the pain had taken a turn. It came in frequent, spinning waves, bursting harshly against her belly, testing her threshold for discomfort every ten minutes.

Mary was so jittery; she wasn't sure how she made it out of bed. She wouldn't have done, if not for her throbbing back, which was almost as bad as the stabs in her abdomen because it was constant. But, she had to get up no matter what. She had somewhere to be. Tripp was counting on her to be a strong presence at Maureen's funeral. She was all he had, room mothers planning the wake be damned. She would not forgive herself if she let him down.

Today was all she had to make it through. A measly twelve hours, at the most. After that, she could tackle the contractions. They were probably nothing anyway – they'd simply picked up their intensity because she was nearing her due date. That was all it was. Marshall would have plenty to say on the subject once she let him in on it.

Unfortunately, keeping it from him was a hassle in and of itself. If her off-color face didn't give her away, then lumbering from the room every time she suffered another blow would definitely do it. She was such a wreck; she almost slipped and fell in the shower, causing a terrible clatter when she threw out a slick hand to the basket holding the soap and shampoo.

Mary had thought the clang sounded worse in the bathroom because of the echo on the linoleum, but it obviously caught Marshall's ear – so much so that he actually opened the door and stuck his head in, bellowing loudly over the running water.

"Mary?!" he called, just a silhouette behind the frosted glass where she was washing. "Are you okay?!"

She had to swallow several times before she worked up the courage to be able to fool him feasibly.

"Fine!" she hollered. "Slipped! I'm good!" waving a hand over the top of the shower door to prove it.

Luckily, he backed himself out at her endorsement, causing Mary to breathe a sigh of relief, waiting for her heart to stop hammering underneath the nozzle spraying her with water.

If not for her bloated ankles and dizziness, she'd stay in the shower all day if she could. The warm water was soothing on her burning back, and if she leaned against the wall with both hands outstretched, the slicing across her abdomen wasn't nearly as bad. She absolutely dreaded getting out, exposing herself free of steam and splashing droplets where Marshall could see everything.

He was in the bedroom waiting for her when she emerged tentatively, hair dripping on the pajamas she'd thrown back on until she could dress for the funeral. He was already wearing his slacks and button-up, the sleeves rolled up on the latter while he contemplated an array of ties on the bed.

"That was quite a crash you made," he remarked, not taking his eyes off his selection of neck ornaments. "You just knocked into the shelf there?" the briefest of glimpses.

"Yeah," Mary managed huskily. "No big deal."

He was still peeping at the ties, "Do you think a bright one is appropriate?" he asked seriously. "I mean, I will be wearing black of course – with the suit and all. But, some color might do the darkness some good, no?"

She answered mechanically, "No, yeah…"

She'd caught a peek of herself in the mirror over the dresser, and was startled. She really looked dreadful. Her cheeks were exceedingly pale, especially considering she'd just taken a hot shower. Bags had formed underneath her eyes because she'd had so little sleep; she was worn out and not even dressed yet.

"Something wrong?" Marshall inquired when he received such a perfunctory response. "You feeling all right?" pausing with an evergreen tie in hand, which he'd been about to try against the white of his shirt.

"Mmm hmm…" Mary hummed, lying through her teeth. "What time's the funeral again?"

"At ten," he provided swiftly. "We'll probably need to leave around nine thirty."

A quick glance at the clock told Mary it was ten till nine already, which meant she had a little over thirty minutes to get her hair dry and throw on the outfit she'd picked up. Not the fashionable type, she'd grabbed a maternity dress she'd found on sale a few days before; it was black and strapless, but floor-length, embroidered with tiny flowers. It reminded Mary of something a person might wear to the beach, because it was so flowing and comfortable, but she'd chosen it because it was the first thing she'd seen.

"Your sister is here, by the way," Marshall went on, back to perusing his field of ties. "Filling in for Jinx on nursery preparations. She's going to supervise while we're gone."

It was a mark of just how strung-out Mary was that she did not object to Brandi flitting about the house for no good reason. She scratched the back of her head and shrugged, trying to discipline her mind, to center it on Tripp. She was doing this for him; she wouldn't be any good if she couldn't be emotionally present. It was a very important, very sad day in his life. She had to be by his side. She had to.

"Have you eaten breakfast?" Marshall babbled absently. "I bought some of those cinnamon Pop-Tarts you like; they're in the cupboard by the bowls."

"No…" Mary passed on blankly, eyes on the carpet. "I'm not…"

Christ almighty. There it was again. Like a fist straight into her gut, knuckles binding and compressing hard and fast; wicked pain, pain the likes of which heaved an involuntary gasp from Mary's chest, right in the middle of explaining…

"I'm not hungry…"

Each word was pinched and narrowed, pulled painstakingly from her brain as though with a crane lever. Her legs wobbled and she was afraid, as she'd been in the shower, that she might fall over. How she longed to scream, to bite right through the lip she was chewing on, even just learn how to breathe the way that Marshall had so solemnly wanted her to.

But, none of those things happened because the man himself had abandoned the mirror and the ties to be in front of her; Mary cursed herself several times over for not being able to conceal this from him. He placed both hands firmly on her shoulders, trying to lock eyes, for hers were screwed shut trying to trounce the pierce.

"What is going on?" his speech was slow and serious; no messing around. "What is wrong?" that same deliberate manner, striking each word with force.

Mary didn't intend to give up so easily, "N-nothing," she stammered, catching a breath when she could run with it. "Just…just…bad cramps…"

Marshall became very stern very fast, "Look at me," he ordered now that the worst was over. And then, in a voice of forced calm, "Bad cramps are _contractions_. Is that what you're having?" his blue eyes were steely and grim, callous beneath his black eye, willing her not to fib. "I saw you this morning trying to breathe through them. Mary, if they're constant, we need to call the doctor right away…"

"They're…they're not," she threw up the wall at once, shaking herself away from his iron grip.

She did not know if this was true or not. She hadn't bothered to time them. The apprehension it created if they were regular was too great. Denial was easier.

"They're…they're Braxton Hicks; that's it," she insisted, sweeping her wet hair away from her eyes. "I need to get ready. Don't bug me about this."

Why she added the afterthought, she had no idea, but she was so anxious to give Marshall the boot, to have him think that everything was status quo, she'd said it without thinking. Her brain seemed to be shutting down along with her body.

"You tell me if anything changes," Marshall pointed an unyielding finger. "Make sure you drink lots of water; we can take a couple bottles with us. I have a cooler in the car."

This was useless information, "Right. Fine," Mary muttered just to shut him up. "Tripp's waiting. I need to be there for him," this was to jog her memory, not Marshall's, who shot her an offhand look, but didn't venture another thought. "I'm gonna say hello to Brandi, then I'll get dressed."

Marshall kept staring, almost with greed, but gave his permission, "Okay."

Suspicious or not, Mary ditched him the minute he allowed her to, fleeing to the hall and shutting the door behind her. She had no aspirations of greeting Brandi, however, but to obscure her weakening form from her partner, to gather a little clout so she could get to the end of the day.

Stopping just outside the closed nursery door, she leaned with her back on the wall, exhaling in an almost measured way, trying to rid herself of the wooziness she was experiencing along with everything else. Her vision was whirling when her eyes were open, so she succumbed to black, wondering what on earth she was going to do if this continued.

Were the twins okay? What if something was happening to them? Mary knew in her heart that the sensible, responsible thing to do would be to tell Marshall and go to the doctor's office if he thought she needed to. But, she couldn't face it; she was losing Tripp in a matter of twenty-four hours and she'd pledged – she had sworn practically on her life that she would be in the front row when they laid Maureen to rest. Whatever she told Marshall, he was like her son. This day was too significant for her to skip out.

Still, even Mary's veins seemed to be yelping in protest. The little voice in the back of her head, the one she always listened to when it came to WITSEC, was urging her to concede. You want to be a mother, it said. She wanted to be a mother more than anything. Going to the funeral would not be worth the price she'd pay if the kids suffered for her stubbornness. She hadn't obsessed over their well-being for nine months for nothing.

"Mare, what are you doing?" a scratchy voice sounded behind her closed lids and she nearly jumped out of her skin.

Snapping to attention, she faced Brandi, dressed in a pair of denim cut-offs so short you'd probably be able to see her underwear through the pockets. They were united with the sort of top Mary would usually wear as an undershirt.

"You're getting the wall all wet," the younger giggled as she felt the plaster. "I thought you had to leave soon; why are you still in your pajamas?"

Mary was grasped with the sudden yearning to break down in front of her baby sister, to confess that she was not at all well and she needed help. While she might not be able to go that far, maybe letting out a few of her frustrations would assist in powering through.

"Squish, I don't feel good…"

Jesus. She sounded like she was about to cry. Her lip even quivered, but she vowed to pull it together.

Brandi's crystalline blue eyes altered to innocently sympathetic, "What's wrong?" she resonated so differently from Marshall, who had been intent on getting to the bottom of things; Brandi's voice was high and childlike. Incredibly sweet.

Mary came clean, "I don't know…" again; she cracked at the octaves, still leaning her head on the wall.

"Did you tell Marshall?" in a gesture Mary thought must belong to someone else's sister, Brandi's fingers began to play in her sopping locks.

The whine that trickled out was revolting; "I can't…" this was a phrase that never used to be in Mary's vocabulary. "We have this funeral to go to, and I have to be there. I _have_ to be there," so her point could not be disputed. "Marshall would just worry…"

Brandi, of course, teed up the logical suggestion, "But, if you don't feel well, maybe you should stay home."

While Mary wished to be more specific, there was no other phrase to describe her dilemma but the one she kept reiterating, "I can't." A shuddering sigh, "I can't…"

To her surprise, her little sister displayed a sense of intuition that Mary didn't even know she possessed. She could obviously see that the older was distressed and not to be convinced of alternative routes – venting was all she'd been looking for. The way Brandi deflected to another method was heartening.

"Well, can I help you with something?" she recommended in her hoarse timbre. "Maybe get you something to eat or drink?" this was a no-go. "Or with your hair – your makeup?"

Mary's initial reaction was to turn all this down, but she _had_ wanted to look nice for the funeral before she'd had to overpower her uterus. And judging by the peek she'd gotten of her reflection in the bedroom, this wasn't going to happen if she was at the helm.

"Actually…" her eyes darted left-to-right, unable to believe she was really saying this. "Would you? Just with my hair?"

Brandi smiled gently, "Yeah, sure. I'll dry it and style it – something soft would look really pretty on you."

Mary knew this magnanimous attitude was to be noted, "Thanks, Squish. Really…" and with this she included keeping mum about her health, for Brandi didn't behave as though she was going to spill the beans to Marshall. "Thanks."

Still displaying her kind smile, she took Mary by the hand and led her to the hall bathroom, completely in her element now that she'd been given the go-ahead to spruce up her sister. However, their first hurdle came just with the hairdryer; with Mary seated on the toilet, Brandi aiming with the instrument, she formed what she thought was a considerate question. It only alerted the pair of them to another anomaly Mary was experiencing.

"I can use the low setting so it's not too hot," Brandi fiddled with the dial on the side, but had to be surprised when Mary shook her head.

"It doesn't matter," she croaked. "I'm kind of cold."

Mary didn't even know she was until she said it; the feeling hadn't indexed as chills. She had too many other sensations to contend with to notice, but she definitely was. Goosebumps had risen all over her arms, and she suddenly realized just how wintry she'd been keeping the house; she could feel every vent and fan blasting it's iciness from every crevice. How could Brandi stand to be dressed in practically nothing?

But, her own wardrobe wasn't what alerted the younger sister. She paused, hairdryer in hand, and furrowed her brow.

"You're cold?" she repeated skeptically. "Really?"

While she'd seemed to guarantee her silence when Mary had complained, it was clear now that Brandi was having doubts about being tight-lipped considering the older's condition.

"I just took a shower," Mary excused insipidly. "I'll warm up. It's nothing."

But, she too felt the growing consternation from recognizing her body temperature. She'd been roasting since May when summer had begun to overtake the southwest. Cold showers and gusting air conditioners never made any difference. What had happened to make her suddenly chilly? It was almost as though she were coming down with the flu, although the flu would not have prompted the contractions.

"Then, I guess I'll use the high setting," Brandi changed her mind, looking more worried by the second. "It'll get you done faster too…" and before Mary could respond, she'd flipped the switch and started fanning her soaking hair with hot blasts, billowing the back into clouds so she would get it all dry.

The droning of the hairdryer was a nice distracter for several minutes while Brandi worked like a pro, Mary trying to give in to the sort of stupor the sound usually arose in her. But, no reverie was achieved when she had so much gnawing disquiet eating away at her habitually hard-edged psyche. For the moment, she wished she could be Brandi – happy-go-lucky, cordial, not a care in the world. It must be so simple.

Regrettably, she didn't give her sister the opportunity to be simple for long. Just as she'd finished drying Mary's hair and was about to attack her with the curling iron, another spell wormed it's way in – just as ferocious and sadistic as every other. Knowing she wasn't going to be able to sit still through it without coming undone, Mary held up a hand to stop the shorter in her tracks.

"Brandi…" her tone shook pathetically, as did her fingers in her sister's face.

"What?"

"Just…wait…"

To many frightened and troublesome looks from Brandi, something in Mary's subconscious – intuition, perhaps – told her to stand. She felt very weighted and heavy sitting down; she could sense the contraction ramming into her pelvis; the only way to alleviate it was to get up. Still working on instinct, she tried the technique she'd used in the shower, pressing her palms into the wall with her back outstretched.

It didn't help much, but it enabled her to breathe a little easier – rasping, rattling breaths that likely would not pass one of Marshall's approved courses. Brandi scuttled over to her side, looking distraught but also determined.

"Do…do you want me to get Marshall?"

Predictably, Mary shook her head, feeling more sick than aching at the current moment, although you could attribute it all to the cramps. They were so extreme that they brought the vertigo back, and the fact that she seemed to be chilling made her think she must be having some sort of stroke. If Marshall were to walk in, he would freak out – like she was seconds away from doing.

"They're…they're just Braxton Hicks," Mary didn't even know if Brandi knew what those were. "They'll…it…it'll pass…"

Brandi was inexorable, "But…you look like you're hurting…"

"That's because I am!"

Her aggravation flew out her mouth in a louder voice as the pain reached its peak, and no amount of leaning or twisting could stop it. Yelling at Brandi in anything resembling speech became impossible, and the shout she'd been waging a war against since she'd gotten up erupted in a deep-throated growl; surely she was going to be knocked to her knees. This kind of twinge could not be normal.

Fortunately, the grunt did shut Brandi up and she tearfully took her sister's hand. Mary was grateful for the chance to choke the life out of something; her nails cut deep into Brandi's soft tissue, but she did not try to pull away.

"It'll be over soon…" she said in a small voice, hoping to convince herself as much as Mary. "Just um…breathe, right? Try to breathe…"

Mary shook her head, able to ignore the instruction because the contraction had petered out. She was sweating and shaking after the fact, but loosened her grip on Brandi's palm, who stretched her fingers once she was allowed.

"You okay?" she couldn't resist asking timidly.

Mary nodded, "Yep."

"Are you sure you don't want me to…?"

But before Brandi could complete her thought, there was a light knock on the bathroom door, and Marshall's long neck appeared around the frame. He alone was ready to go; he'd chosen a crimson tie to complete his outfit, looking as elegant and as smart as always.

"Hey, sorry…" he said at once. "Brandi, one of the workers has a question about the color you want to use on the trim in the nursery. I would hate to commit a faux pas and choose unwisely…"

With one last harassed glance at Mary, Brandi bobbed her head, "Okay. Be right back…"

She sidestepped Marshall and bustled through the door, clearly glad on some level to be rid of her cringing, wincing sister who wouldn't accept assistance of any kind. Mary sighed and lowered herself back onto the toilet, assuming Marshall would return to the kitchen to eat his breakfast, but she was wrong. She wondered if he'd made up the story about the painter just to be alone with her, because he stole through the crack the minute Brandi disappeared.

"Hey, listen…" he whispered, knowing he didn't have a lot of time before the other Shannon returned. "I'm sorry I was short with you earlier; I wasn't trying to make you nervous…"

It was so like him to find fault with himself, even when he was right, but Mary just waved him away, "It's okay, really…"

"Well, no it's not," he insisted valiantly, stopping to give her a pat on the head from where he towered over her. "I am confident you would never knowingly put the twins in danger if you sensed something was off. I just wanted to make sure you were okay…"

He even kissed her hair, donating guilt onto Mary along with everything else. Why did he think so highly of her? What had she ever done to deserve his devotion? She was contradicting everything he was saying right at this very second. No wonder he didn't want to marry her. She always let him down no matter how optimistic he tried to be.

"Maybe we should just go to the funeral…" she found herself trying to compromise and compensate for her shortcomings. "And skip the wake afterward."

Marshall nodding, buying into her receptivity, "If you're still having a hard time by then, we'll omit that part," he agreed. "Great idea."

He even arched his neck and kissed her cheek to show his support, but Mary speculated all the while if he could feel her clammy skin, if he could tell from one taste of flesh that she was fighting a losing battle. Part of her hoped he would be judicious enough to read the signs on his own, thus sparing her the task of being a big girl and owning up to her fears. But, the other part longed for him to remain oblivious. She needed to see Tripp; it might be the last time she ever did.

"If there's anything you need, just let me know," Marshall offered, much as Brandi had. "I'm happy to oblige."

She consented weakly, nothing better to say, "Okay. Thanks."

And apparently, this satisfied him – free of constraints now that he'd communicated his regrets. Mary wished she could say the same about herself, even as he departed, running into Brandi who was on her way back. The sisters commenced with the rest of the grooming in silence, the shorter meticulously curling specific strands of Mary's hair, framing her face in coiled ringlets. She was lucky in that she didn't feel anymore pangs until she was back in the bedroom by herself, halfway through arranging the strapless dress over her huge boobs, which were in danger of spilling out.

On this round, Mary put everything she had into attempting that regimented breathing Marshall talked about. But, it was woefully obvious she had-had no training whatsoever; instead, she sounded like she was about to hyperventilate, which didn't do her dizziness any favors. Slumping onto the bed, she caressed her tummy in what she hoped was a maternal, fostering way. Out of options, Mary submitted herself to the only choice there was left.

"Please…"

What would become of her if the twins decided today was the day? Her son wasn't ready. Odds were, her daughter wasn't either.

"Please…"

She felt the tears stinging in her eyes, felt her nose stop up like she'd just drank something fizzy.

"Please hold on…"

Just shy of thirty-four weeks wasn't long enough. They were her babies; they depended upon their mother for everything, and it didn't seem to matter how aggressively she clashed with her own body, because it was closing down. It was running her ragged, kicking into overdrive, booting Mary's conscious mind into the street while it drove rampant into the end zone.

"Just hold on…"

Her voice was thick and throaty in the empty room. Mary never talked to herself, let alone her two unborn children, but she was willing to try anything. Anything at all. Anything to become a mother.

"Hold on…please…"

There were footsteps outside the door, and she rubbed the round faster – time was dwindling before her very eyes.

"Please…"

She'd spent nine long months agonizing over this very moment. It couldn't be upon her. Her worst nightmare was not coming true. How could she have fallen short when she had worked so-so hard to stay ahead of the game? If worrying counted for anything, she should be lapping the others in the race by now, but no. She was lagging behind, gimping, leaning to reach the ticker-tape only to land sprawling in a heap on the ground, two steps short of the finish line.

Please. Please. Please.

Not today. Not now.

The knob turned.

I can't. I can't.

A creak.

Stay in. Stay in. Please.

"Hey…" Marshall entered tenaciously, having vowed to himself that he would leave Mary be, at least in terms of her vigor. "You about ready to go?"

Yanked harshly from her own thoughts, Mary blinked up at her man, surprised to find she had actually not started bawling – not yet, anyway. But, a second glance in the mirror told her that her complexion had altered since Brandi had done her hair. No longer washed-out, devoid of any color, she had patches of pink in her cheeks; they were shiny with sweat, despite the rouge her sister had slapped onto them to cover up.

Was that woman looking back at her really…her? That fearful, trembling, wide-eyed woman? The woman who had been abducted and shot? Could she be that person losing her mind because two innocent little babies might arrive in something less than one piece?

"Let me give you a hand," Marshall extended his fingers, and Mary blindly allowed him to hoist her up, mostly because she was afraid she would trip over the hem of the dress; she wasn't a veteran of wearing them. "Oh, and you're a little crooked; allow me…"

Indeed, Mary hadn't been able to correct the off-center edging before she'd been knocked over again, and so Marshall slipped the fabric around to the right spot, making sure the elastic would hold around the top. She let him do whatever he wanted, as her mind was busy buzzing with the thousands of different ways she could confide that she was at the end of the road.

Marshall, I'm sick. Marshall, I'm in labor. Marshall, I might die.

None of these seemed to work.

"That's better," he declared, satisfied with his handiwork. "Shall we get cracking, then?"

Marshall, I'm scared.

No, that was bad too.

Somehow, Mary's head nodded of its own accord, "Yeah. I guess so."

Marshall, I can't go. The kids are coming.

Too blunt. Nothing sounded right.

"Mary…" he sighed in awe, working tirelessly to be accommodating; he clearly still felt he was to blame for terrifying her earlier. That didn't matter now, as she was upset enough on her own.

Still, she didn't entirely anticipate what slipped out of his mouth next – making her abandon her disaster for a split second.

"Mary, you look just gorgeous," a relaxed breath. "I expect the mourners will be very jealous of yours truly."

She fluttered her eyelashes, completely disorientated. What lens was he looking through? Did 'gorgeous' mean the same in Marshall-speak as it did in Mary's language? True, Brandi had done a decent job on her hair, and she didn't get dressed up very often, but that didn't automatically dump her in the beautiful category, especially considering how she felt on the inside.

"No, I don't," the woman turned him down miserably. "I look awful," which was code for, 'I feel awful.'

Marshall frowned, "I would beg to differ," cupping her cheek in his hand. "Even 'stunning' is not strong enough."

He was smarter than this. He had to know that something wasn't right. Was he pretending or was he clueless? Marshall wouldn't pretend – not if her welfare was at stake. Did he really trust her as much as he'd said he did? Trusted her to come to him when the pain became unbearable? If so, they were past that point and she'd said nary a word.

"Well, we should head out. We don't want to be late."

Marshall, I'm not late; I'm early. I'm too early.

But, even this testimony did not seem to fit, and before Mary knew it, she was being led out of the bedroom and into the living room. She was saying goodbye to Brandi, she was digging a sweater out of the closet and justifying it by claiming there were drafts in churches. She was going through the motions while her head was crying to cut it out – to be honest, to grab Marshall and jerk the steering wheel around in the opposite direction.

And now they were in the car. What were they doing in the car? How had Mary ended up in the passanger seat? Why was Marshall driving that way, prattling endlessly about things that made no sense?

And now her own ways of breaking the news were not the phrases swirling in her mind – but the phrases of others. The phrases she should be acting on. The phrases she should be listening to.

"_Be aware. Watch yourself for any signs of high blood pressure or premature labor. Any dizziness, headaches, consistent contractions…"_

But, Mary hadn't been timing the contractions. How did she know if they were steady? The fields of brown flicked past her window, and Marshall murmured on.

"_I may not be able to make it anything less than it is; I may not be able to halt the train when it decides to come down the tracks… But, I'm here and I'm here to stay."_

The train was blowing its whistle; loud and unforgiving and Marshall couldn't stop it. Nobody could. He couldn't do this for her.

"_You retain the option to say no to this…"_

She was trying. She was trying. Choo-choo.

"_When you have to bow out, if this is a real friend, I'm sure they'll understand…"_

But what if Tripp didn't understand? And the shrill boxcar rattled down the rails; louder, and louder…

"_If I lose these kids, I don't know what I'm gonna do…"_

Move. Move. Jump aside – run! The engine was going to hit her.

"_It's so close I can taste it…"_

Run! Run! Run!

"_Mary, there's no heartbeat…you had a miscarriage. The baby died."_

Crash!

"Marshall…!"

The name burst from her mouth, all decorum and efforts to be rational forgotten. Her partner almost swerved into the oncoming traffic, but Mary knew she had to spew it all before she couldn't, because the spasms had come home. A few more seconds and she wouldn't be able to speak.

"Pull over."

Bless this man. He did not need to be told twice. Of course, the sounds of Mary's meltdown might've encouraged him as well, but whatever the reason, he was tooling the SUV right off the road and onto the shoulder, turning on his double-blinkers and unbuckling his seatbelt.

Mary, meanwhile, was submerged in torture – white-hot and pitiless, she felt certain her stomach was being ripped apart at the seams. Trying fruitlessly to support the bump with her arms, she rocked back and forth, praying the jab would leave her soon. She couldn't stand the idea of Marshall sitting there ignorant, though he'd never been truly ignorant in all his life.

He expended no words at first and settled for rubbing neat, concentric circles onto her back, easier to reach because she was arched forward. When the convulsion did float away on its paper thin wings, like it had never left any wound behind, Marshall didn't waste any more time.

"Mary, what's happening?"

There was an ease, a warmth to his question; he was not urgent in the least. And it was time to let go. She had lost.

"I've been having contractions…" a very unattractive sniff to keep her nose from dripping. "I don't know if they're regular or not, but they're not going away…"

"Okay…"

His hand found the hill and roved slowly back and forth while Mary gasped for air, the weight of the circumstances falling profoundly onto her head. She didn't know what he was doing, and had the compulsion to explain in further detail now that she'd fallen apart, cars rushing past on Marshall's side of the window.

"There's something else wrong with me; I'm having chills, like I'm sick…"

The hand on her belly went to her forehead, shoving her bangs away. Marshall tested with his palm, front to back, looking slightly more discouraged as he did so.

"Yeah, you're a little warm…"

She had a fever? She'd never even calculated something like this.

Marshall got right down to business, "We need to get you to a doctor," pulling his phone from his pocket, already starting to dial. "I'm gonna call Stan – tell he and Delia to stand in for us at the funeral, and then I'll drive you to the ER."

"The ER?" Mary trilled in disbelief, causing the man to pause in his dialing quest. "Marshall, the babies…"

And this was the kicker. This one, trailing sentence said more than all the other ways Mary had tried to open her heart to him put together. Calling the twins, 'the babies' meant she'd surrendered – she saw them as the vulnerable, defenseless, frail creatures they were, though she'd worked diligently the last nine months to keep everyone else from viewing them as such. This label said she was scared – maybe more petrified than she'd ever been before.

And so, Marshall had to do what he could to talk to her down, "I know," stroking her hair softly. "Here's what I want you to do, okay?"

He waited for the nod, which she gave.

"Roll over on your side, like this…" guiding her by the shoulder into the desired position. "So that you're facing me, just like that."

Mary didn't bother asking why, just like she didn't bother bringing up that her seatbelt would not reach if she were reclined.

"Drink one of these…" he groped in the backseat and handed her a bottle of water. "As much as you can, all right? Even if you're gonna wet your pants," the joke was meant to show he recognized that Mary would be willing to forego an overloaded bladder if it meant the pain stopping. "They'll be able to tell us more when we get there."

Fearing the next onslaught of contractions, Mary bemoaned once more just as Marshall revved the engine and set out a path to the emergency room.

"I…I don't…I don't know how…" swallowing her sip of water. "I don't know how to breathe like you said…"

He'd been right. She should've taken a class. He was always right and she was always wrong.

But, the man was not one to hold a grudge, "It's okay, I can coach you through it."

And without further ado, he sped off the beaten track, causing honks from passing motorists, trundling to the closest light to do a U-turn and put them on the road to hospital.

XXX

**A/N: So, I am sure everyone is ramped up for what's coming. I said it was a big chapter, and it is. But, without giving anything away, I don't want to lead anyone on either – let's just say, don't be surprised if there are some twists and turns ahead. **

**I'm so glad I was able to get this out tonight, even if I didn't get it to you all until late. When I first began writing this story, this was one of the chapters I saw in my head from the very beginning; I've been waiting to share it for a long time – and the ones to come!**


	31. Chapter 31

**A/N: So many catch-up reviews! I love it!**

XXX

Once the two inspectors arrived at the hospital, the entire ordeal became a surreal blur for Mary. Marshall's courageous attempts to maintain composed were nothing short of futile in the unending hustle and bustle of the ER. Between the wheelchairs, the intercoms, the forms to fill out, and the medical jargon being thrown around at every possible turn, Mary lost her cool within five minutes coming through the double doors. If she was going to be forced to endure this horrendous torment, she might as well throw all her cards in the air at the onset.

It was the terms the nurses used that first set her off. They called her, 'high risk' and a 'priority' and she even thought she heard 'crisis' chucked into the fray. On some level, Mary supposed she should be indebted to all this devastating lingo, because it got her a real room with a real door, not the curtained cubicles most patients were subjected to. In contrast, this feat only reinforced what a predicament she'd knotted herself into, if she was being rushed to the front of the line.

And what a predicament it was. Mary admitting defeat and skiving off Maureen's funeral was a message that seemed to reach her astringent uterus. She had three contractions between the parking lot and the maternity ward of the hospital, one of which had her balling Marshall's pressed dress shirt in her whitened fingers. He gave no indication that he minded at all, but she was despondent and horribly embarrassed to be causing such a scene.

The uproar continued even after the team of nurses had swept a gown over her head and booked her into a bed. Marshall could see that she was wearing thin, her cheeks rosy, eyes shiny and faded all at the same time. Her head moved side-to-side on her pillow while she coped with her discomfort – not exactly easy, given that there was a nurse at the foot of the bed and two on her right side, jostling her about six different directions.

"Sir, how many weeks along is your wife?" asked the nurse from the bottom, who was fiddling with Mary's gown.

The women in question was so inundated, wheezing around rather than through her pain, that she didn't even notice the mistake – or that Marshall didn't correct her.

"She'll be thirty-four tomorrow," he replied from Mary's left, faithfully holding her hand, fingers intertwined inside his.

"Do you know if she's started dilating or if she's effaced yet?" this girl had a very high-pitched, juvenile sounding voice, like she'd only just graduated from college. "I'm doing a quick check here just to see…"

But, Marshall's information on this front would have to wait. Though nobody had yet managed to get Mary hooked up to any of the surrounding monitors, it was apparent even without the seismographic-like lines that she was having another contraction. Her partner had been attempting to time them on their way over, but they were very sporadic, though they did seem to be striking faster. There was no way to tell what was wrong with her when there was no pattern.

"Marshall…"

The helpless quality to her tone was heartbreaking; he thought back to the powerlessness she'd experienced after losing Jamie, and his empathy only increased. Tightening his grip on her hand, he knew she was looking for instruction on breathing methods, as he'd so nobly promised to give her.

"All right, breathe in; nice and slow…"

But, Mary seemed to have lost that ability – along with so many other things. Every time she wanted to draw air, she was impeded by the electrical charge tunneling its way through her abdomen; oxygen was no match for lightning bolts, all of which blazed ruthlessly among that malicious, terrible mangling sensation, like her intestines were being mashed into pieces.

"I can't…!" Mary gulped in answer to Marshall's lesson. "I'm sorry…"

This was followed by a sorrowful groan, and a hand slapping over her eyes. While Marshall knew her claims were untrue – she could obviously breathe, because she could talk – he also knew now was not the moment to condemn her.

"It's okay," he promised, bringing her hand to his lips and kissing her knuckles. "Just do your best; I know you're trying…"

A nod surfaced beneath the hand hiding her eyes, as did a slow exhale – a little late, considering the contraction seemed to have vanished, but Marshall played it up even so.

"That's good," praising kindly. "You'll remember that for next time."

Did there have to be a 'next time,' Mary thought ruefully, feeling the tears snaking onto her face from behind her fingers. She had no memory of the last time she had been so miserable, so feeble, so flat-out-scared. Even being abducted had not been like this; she'd had her Marshal training to fall back on. She was running in blind on this one, and it was appalling just how inadequate she was at managing unexpected turns.

She heard Marshall in the middle of the ongoing catastrophe, only the smallest inkling of light allowed to penetrate her hiding place.

"She had an appointment last Friday and was told she wasn't dilated," reverting to nurse number one's need for information.

That girl's voice returned, "Well, she's progressed since then; she's dilated two centimeters."

And going down. Forgetting whatever dignity she'd still hung onto, Mary allowed the harsh, bright bulbs to conquer her vision; Marshall seemed to vibrate after all that black. He wasn't aware she was watching him, and so he didn't bother to keep the anxiety off his face at the news.

"What?!" Mary huffed maniacally, gaining Marshall's attention in an instant. "How can I be two centimeters? What…why is she…?"

The man rubbed her shoulder from where she was tilted back in what he hoped was a soothing motion, "Relax," a whisper. "Some women will stay at one or two centimeters for days at a time before they evolve any further; it doesn't mean anything is set in stone…"

Mary intended to chastise him for daring to tell her to relax, but more activity was taking place, making it hard for her to divide her focus. Some sort of large band was being fitted over her belly by the same nurse who had checked her cervix. Not thinking about where she was or what sort of examining she'd need, Mary just knew she didn't like unknown hands so close to her stomach. Instinct made her push them back, until she felt Marshall's long fingers close around her wrist.

"No-no…" he murmured softly, not at all disturbed or annoyed. "That's the heart monitor; there'll be two of them, one for each of the kids to get their vitals…"

Feeling stupid and withdrawing her hand, Mary shook her head, "Right. Sorry…"

This was the second time she'd apologized in two minutes, leaving Marshall slightly puzzled. To compensate, he continued to caress the hand he held, each of her fingers one by one.

"Don't worry about it."

Mary was able to tolerate the straps being fastened around her stomach if it meant they could figure out how the twins were faring, but that was until she felt a second nurse messing with the nail on her right hand, clamping something down, practically cutting off her circulation.

Once again, she acted first and thought later, trying to tear the clip from her flesh, until Marshall interrupted again.

"Leave that on…" quiet and calm as could be. "It's how they'll read your blood pressure."

Unable to believe she could be such an imbecile about so many things, Mary began to feel tears welling in her eyes to accompany the ones that had already begun to stain her cheeks.

"Yeah…" dejected approval. "Sorry…"

Even given the circumstances, Marshall couldn't help noting that all this seeking for forgiveness was most unlike Mary. Why did she continue to act contrite? Wouldn't she ordinarily be barking orders at the doctors and nurses to hurry up and tread lightly?

He decided at once that whatever he had assumed her behavior would be was immaterial – these were uncharted waters for both of them, and he needed to be the epitome of understanding.

"It's okay; it's fine…"

Not yet it wasn't. The arrival of the blood pressure binding on her index finger was preceded only by the IV needle, which the third and final nurse seemed to be having problems with, because Mary's arm kept wiggling out of the way. Marshall's compassion for his fellow inspector raised another notch; who else but pregnant women had to go through so much prodding and poking when their body was already rebelling against them to begin with?

"Hon, you think you could hold still for just a minute?" nurse number three was older than the first two, which explained the term of endearment, but she was also infinitely friendlier; her air was kind and generous. "I'm having a little trouble getting your vein; it'll only take a second."

"Look over here at me…" Marshall waggled his fingers, indicating his side of the room, knowing that Mary staring at a needle pricking her skin wasn't going to help. "The IV's just a precaution."

Reluctantly, the woman did what he said, feasting her weary green eyes on his beautiful blue ones, allowing the nurse to hold her forearm without the disorder of Mary dragging it away.

"I know…" she gulped in answer to Marshall's explanation. "I'm sorry…" wetness leaked down over her skin, moistening her face, making her a hundred times more mortified because Marshall was looking right at her. "I'm so sorry…"

And he knew this was about more than the needle in her vein, "Why do you keep saying that?" he asked earnestly. "You don't have anything to be sorry about."

"Yes, I do…" Mary was a whining, tragic mess, but it wasn't the crying that seemed to be bothering Marshall; it was her outlook. "I knew this was gonna happen. I knew it…"

Being right was usually her safeguard, but not this time. She had called upon a higher power every night, begging to be proven wrong, to have someone more in charge than she directing the shots; making the twins wait out their time in the womb. Mary was saddened beyond comprehension to learn that her gut feeling had been right on the money.

"If you knew, then you did everything you could by coming to the hospital," Marshall was speaking in less than a whisper, knowing she would be humiliated at a later date in remembering how out of control she was acting now. "What would you have changed?"

Perturbed not to have a basis for her culpability, Mary let out a guttural sigh, "I…I should've come sooner…" was her feeble validation.

"I'm not sure it would've made any difference, partner," Marshall started brushing her hair back, over and over, one eye stationed on the nurse, who was just about to administer the IV now that Mary had quit squirming. "When these kids get rocking and rolling, they only stop when they're ready."

His reassurances were hindered by the benevolent nurse, "Relax that muscle for me…" Mary felt long, supple fingers stroking the blue lines in her wrist, coaxing her to release her strain.

Marshall's eyes flickered upward, "Is there a problem?"

The nurse, whose tag read, 'Vickie' was not at all uptight and gave a truthful response, "She's just tense; I don't like to put the needle in when people are; it tends to be more painful. It happens every day; she's not the first."

Mary could not even do _this_ right, but Marshall was on the move, rolling over a stool that was sitting nearby and he parked himself at her bedside, prepared to be of service.

"Take a deep breath…" he persuaded delicately, an action that might be valuable to all of them. "Really big, nice and deep…" now was a good time, as there was no contraction to be dwelling upon. "We'll do it together…"

And, with no thoughts about how foolish he might appear, Marshall inhaled and exhaled quite theatrically, pleased to see Mary following his direction, though hers was much more trembling. In fact, she had to take two breaths just to match one of Marshall's, but it must've done the trick.

Vickie was extraordinarily fast; she had to have been waiting for the millisecond when Mary's vein loosened up, because she was right there – hook, line, and sinker.

Unfortunately, the puncture in her skin still produced a wince and caused a hitch in her not-so-rhythmic breathing. Marshall pressed his lips to her heated forehead when he saw this, pausing there momentarily to allow his kiss to soak in; wanting to make sure Mary would feel it.

"She get it?" the woman's three words were marred with tiny, pinched gasps and hiccups; getting a grip was going to take some doing.

"She's got it," Vickie answered for Marshall, signaling that he could regain his seat, which he did. "Nice work mom."

A throwaway observation that should've made Mary feel better made her feel markedly worse in this, the most hectic moment of her existence. Closing her eyes, her cheeks dampened for the umpteenth time as tears kept on drenching her face, making her feel sweaty and shivery to go along with the pesky fever she had to contend with. Like labor pains were not enough.

"Slow down…" Marshall coached, unable to listen to Mary pant for air and not say something. "Slow it down; the IV's in, you're all hooked up…"

Indeed, there were monitors pinging away, and one of the nurses had exited all together. Vickie fiddled with the bag dispensing fluids for a moment, before she shuffled over to the screen spooling out the evidence of Mary's off-the-wall contractions.

"Practice with me while we have a second here…" Marshall encouraged, waiting for a report from their most knowledgeable nurse. "Inhale kind of quiet and shallow, like you're breathing from your chest…"

This did not seem to compute with Mary, and when she tried she only became frustrated and weepy, because she wanted to gather more oxygen than was necessary to help with the woozy feeling in her head. Marshall, big fat liar that he was, claimed she was doing it perfectly.

"Great, just try not to take in so much air next time because you might feel dizzy…"

She was already dizzy.

"When you exhale, breathe really deep from your diaphragm, okay?"

His training was broken up by a snide remark from nurse number two, "Didn't you take Lamaze or something?"

Even younger than nurse number one, this girl could only be sixteen for all they knew, and her insensitive comment earned her a snort from Vickie. It seemed she wasn't sharing her shift with the sharpest crayons in the box. Mary wished she felt up to hitting number two, but Vickie took care of that to an extent.

"Go back to the nurse's station and get their paperwork," she snapped irritably. "Bring Miss Shannon some ice chips while you're at it."

The girl flounced over to the door, looking affronted at being ordered around by her equal, but voiced no complaints and saw herself out. Once she was gone, Vickie rolled her eyes dramatically, but then turned to Mary with an affectionate smile.

"Ignore her, hon; she hasn't got her bedside manner quite down yet," another look of contempt and fingers on the patient's shoulder. "You listen to your man – he's obviously done his homework," now the grin was directed at the taller of the two. "The hardest part is concentrating; breathing will come a lot easier if you can figure out how to focus and block out the pain."

"Any tips on how to figure it out?" Marshall queried, knowing from Mary's bare ogling that she wasn't going to be able to ask on her own.

"Hell if I know," Vickie blew past that, but Mary liked her because she was frank without being crass. "I wasn't at my most becoming when my kids were born, but they got here in the end. One way or another, they always do," still studying the lines that printed Mary's contractions on ditto pages.

"How many do you have?" Marshall was polite by default.

"Kids? Three," Vickie presented. "Ten, eight, and two. All boys."

Now the man gave a low whistle, "That's a brood," he was hoping the easygoing, neutral tone of the conversation would unwind Mary slightly.

"Yeah, but they know who's boss," she said, dark brown eyes catching the light and glimmering, matching the brunette coiled curls falling on her shoulders. "And, I never attempted two at once, so you guys are ahead of me."

Marshall thought perhaps there would be more to mindlessly discuss, at least until the doctor showed up, but it seemed that Vickie had other places to be. After all, they were not the only patients in the hospital, lest they feel like it.

"I'll be back soon if they need me," she fed another length of paper into the monitor. "The on-call doctor will be here as soon as they can, so you guys do your best to stay calm." Tapping the display, "Technically, I'm not supposed to give you any ideas, but your contractions are between five and eight minutes apart, and definitely irregular. That's a really good sign that this can be stopped before it gets out of control."

Whatever she meant by 'this' Mary didn't want to know, and she certainly had no plans to take her words to heart – and not just because the nurse would be in trouble for imparting false hope in their brains. Marshall granted his thanks before Vickie stepped around the bed and followed the same path her colleague had in leaving the room.

Finally, it was quiet and free of all the overwhelming commotion; the only sound Mary's low breathing and the beeping of the monitors. But, the blonde was far from reassured, knowing the worst was yet to come. She would not have been given special treatment and assigned three nurses if this were some routine false labor scare.

However, Marshall seemed to relish the silence, speaking almost inaudibly so he wouldn't shatter the perceived tranquility.

"Let me see your head…" he analyzed her flesh again, trying to locate the source of the fever, which was definitely still present; Mary flinched as they came into contact and his hand immediately held the heat radiating from her skin. "Still quite the little oven…"

Disheartened, he discovered almost at once that Mary was still crying, though she kept swiping at tears with the backs of her hands. Her unbridled fear and horror made him so sad, but he knew this was nothing as to whatever she was feeling.

"Listen Mare…" he might as well talk if all she was going to do was stare tearfully at the ceiling, like she was memorizing it's intricacies to keep from becoming a total basket case. "I know that this looks bleak, but these people know what they're doing; they aren't going to deliver the twins unless they've exhausted all other options…"

But, this namby-pamby, wishy-washy view was not going to cut it; Mary was in a thespian mood, "If they die, I will die."

Marshall did what he could not to look too affected by this brash opinion, "That would be in a very extreme case, Mary…"

"I can't live without them…" trickling, pathetic sobs accompanied this declaration, and she felt Marshall squeeze her hand roughly. "I can't do it. I can't…" Forced to stop to allow the tantrum to envelop her, several more bawling moans came from deep within before Mary could articulate again. "This is my father. This is my father all over again; if I want something badly enough, it's a guarantee I won't get it; that's just the way it is…"

Marshall wanted to admit that he did not really spot the connection, but took a different tack, "But, you made it through that and you will make it through this; you just have to be patient…"

"I'm tired of being patient…!"

"I know, and it's asking way too much of you right now…"

"Tripp is going to kill me, he -!" a strangled cry. "Shit! Marshall…!"

The display was actually an aid in this instance, because it provided proof that Mary was definitely not experiencing phantom pain; it was real and it was inhuman. Hurriedly, he stood up, feeling the inflexible throttling of his hand that meant Mary was hurting – and badly.

"Okay, let's try it; here we go…" he loomed over her on purpose, to give her something concrete and domineering to look at. "Easy, balanced inhale…" targeting key words, words designed to pinpoint the most important aspects.

It was fruitless, at best. Mary plainly was having none of it; try as she might to get a hold of herself and spotlight her attentions where they belonged, her mind was just too full to accomplish the desired end. The ache was carrying its own heat now, pulsating cruelly from her spine to her abdomen, high voltage and dangerous. A primal roar came from some subterranean cleft in her chest, followed by the most jangling puffs of air she could've ever conjured up.

Marshall abandoned his lesson and sat back down; remembering the way Mary had so viciously clasped his hand during the amniocentesis. Hoping to jolt her back to consciousness, he gave it a forceful squeeze, inviting her without words to grip as hard as she wanted.

"Hang in there, partner…" he whispered, using his free palm to stroke her hair again. "You can do it. You just hit the crest; you're going down, you're almost there…"

Marshall was watching the screen as he said all this, and then decided it was probably not a good idea to school her; his useless facts would just irk her.

If only he knew – amidst Mary's totally panic-driven world was the craving for him to keep spouting whatever futile information he had up his sleeve. It gave her something to strive for, to run toward, but she couldn't find the words to tell him. In any case, being confined in the bed was torture; her heels were digging into the mattress because her body wanted to get up, to get out of this cocoon they'd swathed her in.

"I want to stand…" she choked out, having to collect an awful lot of oxygen after the fact because speaking was so strenuous.

Marshall was sensitive to this, having read in countless books that women labored more comfortably when gravity was on their side.

"I know, I'm sorry; you can't because you're tied to all the machines…" no big surprise there. "And I'm sure your blood pressure's too high; they won't want you on your feet."

Though disappointed, Mary's mind took her a completely different direction once she lost sight of the contraction. She was flying high all over again; any coolness that had taken over with Vickie was out the window.

"Did you call my mom?" she squeaked pitifully. "Does Jinx know I'm here?"

Marshall nodded, glad for a change of subject, "She's on her way. Brandi's still at the house, then she's headed to work. She's gonna wait until we have news before she decides to come down."

"They're gonna think we're here because I'm in labor and the kids are coming…"

"We do not know what you are 'in,'" Marshall contradicted, his relinquished hand forming an air quote. "Active labor has stable contractions at specific intervals, and that is not happening here…"

"My mom might know what's going on," Mary bleated at random, as she was so aimless and needed something to grab hold of; normally, she'd be aware that any universe where Jinx knew more than Marshall was one that had been hit by an asteroid. "She's had babies, she might remember if something like this had ever happened to her…"

Marshall, disconsolate to see droplets of dew just streaming from her eyes, reached out with his thumb and brushed a few out of the way of her lashes. One created rivulets on his skin, forming a puddle; a tiny oasis of Mary's melancholy.

"Do you want me to go and see if she's here yet?" patting her cheek lightly. "I can, if you don't mind being by yourself for a few minutes…"

"No…"

Needing Jinx and wanting her were two separate things, and as Mary couldn't discern which was occurring at the moment, she thought it best that the dancer stay where she was for the time being. If nothing else, the presence of a mother who'd actually _gotten_ to mother was likely to prompt a whole cascade of blubbering, and who knew where that would lead. Mary did not trust herself to remain at all poised, because Jinx would surely regale her with fairytales about healthy babies, and there was no warranty on that oath following through.

"Why isn't someone coming in?" she muttered, leaving Jinx aside, and surely confusing Marshall with how she sped from one theme to another. "We don't even know if the kids are alive, and they just left me in here…"

Marshall tucked sweaty hair behind her ears, "The nurse who hooked up the heart monitors took some notes on their vitals; I was watching her. If there was cause for alarm, she'd have gotten someone right away."

Directionless was exactly what she was, "My back really hurts…"

The man was still trying to do something about the strands of damp locks falling in her face, "If you can roll over a bit, I can rub it for you."

"No…"

Mary did not know why she turned him down at every corner. Just as she'd dreaded, no poems or sermons or empty words took this away. Her life was beginning and ending right here, on a broiling, sunny August morning, which was sure to elapse quite seamlessly into the afternoon, and finally evening. Mary yearned to keep the night at bay; she couldn't deal with wherever they might be by then.

"Are you sure?" Marshall nudged her shoulder in reference to his previous offer. "I give a highly-acclaimed massage."

"No," his partner said again, refusing to rotate. "I need to see you."

It was apparent that this struck a chord in Marshall, and he smiled softly, determined to do his part, "Well then, why don't I cease with the simpleton questions. Is there something you do want?"

He was so humble, so generous; his heart was as pure as freshly fallen snow. Mary marveled in how she'd been so fortuitous to have caught a man so far out of her league; Marshall put up with everything from her snark to her sentiment, and every number on the scale in-between.

What she wanted, more than anything as she looked into his sincere, sky-blue gaze, were two children with his wholesome, unadulterated integrity and decency. But, though they might have half his DNA running through their blood, even Marshall could not give her that. Not now. Not anymore.

"I want you to tell me it's gonna be okay."

It was the next best thing, though as paradoxical as the day was long. And Marshall clearly couldn't forget that.

"I…thought that was what you didn't want me to do."

Mary sniffled and nipped her eyes shut, the whites flaming from so much moisture – the likes of which she hadn't experienced since she'd lost Jamie.

"I changed my mind."

She trusted Marshall. She trusted Marshall with everything. It was the only thing keeping her going. He wouldn't lie, even if she asked him to. Believing in Marshall to the point where he could hold her life in his two hands was all she had left.

And the stroke of her arm sealed the deal, "It's gonna be okay. I'm here. Nothing is going to happen to Frick and Frack." Like the leading man in some horrific romantic comedy, "I won't let it."

XXX

**A/N: Thank-you so much for tolerating the late updates! I should be back home tomorrow and back on schedule!**


	32. Chapter 32

**A/N: I am glad you all were excited by the action-packed chapters! Hopefully I can keep it going!**

XXX

Mary was none-too-relieved to be saddled with yet another doctor she did not know when her card was finally drawn on the maternity ward. This one was female, unlike Doctor Abbott from the amnio, and platinum blonde – a trait that Mary most certainly would've made fun of if she were in any shape to crack jokes. If she had to guess, she'd put her at not even thirty years of age, an attribute that was not appealing in the least. She'd have felt safer with Vickie, who was just a nurse, over all these youngins' parading around.

Platinum, who also had boobs the size of cantaloupes, did not even do much once she made her grand appearance, something that was sure to spike Mary's blood pressure another few rungs. She was breathing in a constant cycle now – incorrectly, she was certain, but Marshall was just glad she was doing something. Perhaps she kept up a steady stream with the hope that if a contraction staggered through, she had a better chance of fighting it off. While he was grateful she'd centered in on something, breathing so much when she didn't necessarily need to made his partner hoarse and tired.

"Miss Shannon, you've already dilated two centimeters," Platinum announced from her stool at the foot of the bed, maybe just to rub salt in the wound since nurse number one had already told them as much. "I was informed that you hadn't progressed at all when you were at your OBGYN last week?"

"That's right," Marshall piped up, pausing to kiss Mary's temple when he heard an agitated grunt obstruct her nonstop breathing. "I know; sit tight; you're doing great…" he whispered, knowing she was uncomfortable with the doctor's fingers poking around beneath the blanket.

"Now, your contractions are very intermittent, but as you've had more than five in the course of an hour, we can't label them as Braxton Hicks…"

"But, Braxton Hicks are erratic too…" Marshall was not sure why he decided to argue, just that Mary's fierce pulling on his hand encouraged him to stand up for his woman. "How can you be definite on this not being a case of false labor?"

"Because Braxton Hicks and false labor are essentially the same thing," Platinum countered, using her finger to trace the lines on the paper marking the contractions. "And Braxton Hicks don't cause the cervix to open."

Mary did not like where this was headed. She'd told herself over and over again since making the decision to come to the hospital that her body rocketing completely out-of-whack could be any number of things. Contractions were not the be-all, end-all; she could just be having a bad day, a series of spells. Marshall had said that stress was an enormous factor in the frequency of Braxton Hicks contractions; this whole trip could've been a complete overreaction.

Now Mary's denial was running out of road. It wasn't this professional's supposed expertise that made her doubt herself, but the cold hard facts. It was an actuality that she had not been dilated at all when she'd seen Doctor Reese last Friday, and now she was. What caused such a rapid jump from one week to the next?

She didn't want to find out.

So Marshall was going to find out for her, "So, if she's not having Braxton Hicks, but her cervix is opening, then what's going on?"

Platinum-Cantaloupes was much too blasé about this whole thing. She was holding Mary's fate right in her hands, and she spoke to them like she was giving a weather forecast.

"Given the patchy state of her contractions, but the fact that they are persisting, along with dilation having begun, this is a classic case of preterm labor."

Marshall's heart broke clean in two when he heard the piteous, dismal sob sound from his right. Mary's pessimism aside, she'd obviously been holding out hope for a cleaner solution, and her wish had been denied. Her eyes pinched shut, distraught from having been betrayed by her own body.

"Oh no…" the woman wept, a tear sneaking out of each eye and rolling sadly down the slopes. "Oh God…"

Marshall nudged his chair still closer to the bed, knowing he had to be as near to her as he possibly could. Not thinking about the notion that there was a room full of people who could see him, he leaned his head next to hers on the pillow, so his lips were inches from her ear.

"They can _stop_ premature labor. They can…" quiet enough so only Mary could hear. "The party is not for another three weeks; these two don't have a flight out of the gate until we blow the whistle."

A shuddering sigh was his only response, but he had wanted to appear unwavering and positive; his last promise was not one he intended to break. Squeezing Mary's hand hard to signify his stanch support, Marshall returned his gaze to the doctor, fully prepared to let her know they were not a pair of pushovers.

In his normal voice, "What are you going to do to prevent it from getting any further?"

Platinum was not at all flustered by Marshall's forthrightness, "There are a few things we can try, but it's a little early to be looking at interventions…"

Interventions? Mary was baffled. Why did doctors have this code-lingo for everything? How was she going to be able to understand what was going on?

"…Right now, I need to step out; I have an emergency in the next ward…"

What was Mary then?

"The best thing you can do is relax, keep tilted onto your side just like you are, and keep eating those ice chips."

Marshall was floored to see this woman stand up; couldn't fathom why she would just abandon them to hack it all by their lonesome. Couldn't she see how upset Mary was – what sort of downfall her news had brought to the patient? Wasn't it her responsibility to tend to the sick and the ailing, not dart off the minute she perceived no immediate danger?

"Wait, hang on…" he called out seriously just as she reached the door handle, swiveling on his stool to face her, which was a trick considering he refused to give up Mary's hand. "Are the twins okay? Nobody's told us anything; are they even stable?"

Bouncing breasts and all, Platinum's lack-of-emotion was bothersome, "They're fine," it was as though they should've known already, and how could that be? "Both have strong and steady heartbeats; the female is still occiput anterior…"

Speak English! Mary wanted to scream.

"The male is transverse or sideways, but both are secure," she nodded soundly. "I'll be back when I can. You can page the nurses if you need anything."

Marshall was glad he was turned around, so Mary could not see the fury on his face when this woman was being so flip. It gave him time to arrange his features into something more impartial by the time he revolved back to his partner, who had ditched breathing for a moment to rant and rave.

"Where is she going?!" she burst hysterically. "I'm in labor six weeks too soon, and they don't even know why! I could be birthing these kids on the floor and there wouldn't be anybody to catch them!"

While Marshall agreed with her sentiment, his main concern was her, and she was working at a ten on the Richter scale if he didn't head her off.

"Mary, calm down…" back to rumpling her hair affectionately. "You cannot deliver when you're only two centimeters dilated; it won't happen," of this, he was affirmative. "In any case, I'd pay to see them try to deliver a transverse baby naturally…" muttering under his breath.

The idea of their son stretched end-to-end in Mary's uterus, flat as a pancake up near her ribs, was enough to make him wonder why she hadn't started having excruciating pain long before this.

She didn't seem to hear his aside, which was probably a good thing, "How long are they gonna keep me here? How will they know if I'm all right if there's nobody in here to check?"

"They're not going away forever," Marshall insisted, doing everything in his power to stay collected, because if he started getting antsy, Mary would fly off the handle. "If they thought they could do anything for you, I'm sure they'd be on it."

But, why was she here if something wasn't being done to help her? She might as well have gone to the church and moaned and groaned through Maureen's funeral, if this was the alternative. Not to mention, the memorial flashing through her mind gave her something else to gripe about; she had the feeling Marshall was going to appease her no matter what.

"Did Stan and Delia say they'd go over to the funeral?" she asked, sure that Marshall wasn't going to be able to follow her thought processes, the way she was flinging around. "Could you reach both of them, or…?"

"I talked to Stan," he modified his pacifying efforts and started kneading the muscles in her shoulder; anything to bring her down off the wave. "They were more than happy to go over and take our place. Stan also said that he hoped you were okay, and to text him an update when we had the chance."

Dismayed, his massage didn't seem to be working; Mary kept shifting away from him. Marshall supposed it was possible that her lingering fever was making her particularly twitchy about people touching her, but he didn't want to give up just yet.

"Why don't you face the wall?" he indicated the window on the far side of the room, falling back on his suggestion from earlier. "One side is as good as another; let me rub your back, it might help you relax…"

But, Mary couldn't imagine rolling over would be pretty, and had even less assurance in Marshall's hands aiding in respite. She couldn't seem to get the diagnosis out of her head. Preterm labor. Premature labor. Labor. She was in labor, no two ways about it; delaying operations be damned. She had the urge to tell someone; to shout it from the rooftops. Something was wrong and she wanted everyone to know it.

"I-I don't need a back rub…" this was blatantly untrue, but Marshall would probably let it slide. "Do…do you think they'll go out and tell Jinx that…that I'm…?"

Her inquiry faded into nothingness; wanting to broadcast her quandary didn't mean it was easy to do, especially with the incessant beeping going on from all the machines. Fortunately, Marshall saw where she was headed and picked up the thread.

"I doubt they'll let her know," he claimed. "Would you like me to?"

Though Mary wanted to avoid Marshall leaving, this was something that suddenly seemed important. Deep in her heart, Mary still possessed coercion to take care of Jinx; to protect her from harm, even though it was supposed to be the other way around. She could just picture her dithering around in the waiting room, wringing her hands and fretting frantically about her daughter.

And this was why she nodded her consent, "Yeah, would you?"

If it would mellow her out, Marshall would do anything.

"Absolutely. You'll be all right if I leave for a minute?"

Mary balked visibly, eyes straying to the monitors, one of which could foretell those nasty contractions; nowhere near completely gone.

"I promise I'll be quick…" Marshall stood. "Just a second or two."

Well, a second was asking for warp speed, but Mary did not want to appear any more wretched than she already had. Gulping, nodding, and still breathing, she gave him permission to exit, wondering if he would actually bolt down the hall to be as fast as he said he would. With Marshall, she could only guess, but if anyone were heroic enough, it would be him.

"Just…just hurry," she reiterated in the midst of inhaling and exhaling, still trying to wrap her brain around the verdict on her condition.

"I will…" he was already shuffling for the door, waving his hands and bobbing his head to reinforce his devotion. "I'll tell Jinx and be right back…"

But, just as he was going through the frame, he bumped smack into another doctor entering from the outside – a kind-faced, short-haired, good-humored doctor they both knew very well. Alas, good fortune might finally be on their side.

Marshall scrambled to remain upright, knocked off balance into the door jam, but then threw out his hand to see to it that the person he'd collided with was not going to fall over as well. He came to a resolution slowly, comprehension dawning as he realized who he was looking at.

"Helen…"

Doctor Wolk clapped a hand onto his shoulder, "Hey Marshall."

The minute Mary heard the familiar name, she was struggling to sit up; this was opportunity, this was a chance, and she was going to seize the moment while she had it, no matter how despairing or foolish she might look. Marshall, it transpired, seemed to have the same feeling, taking the fact that Doctor Wolk had been entering the room at face value.

"Hey, I have to step out for a minute; would you mind…?" a finger pointing at the bedraggled, sweaty, gasping Mary.

"I was just on my way in; I won't be able to stay long; I'm assigned to another patient, but when I got wind that you two were here…"

This was quite enough for Marshall, "Perfect. I won't be long," and he was gone, footsteps pattering down the hall in search of Jinx.

Mary, meanwhile, was still working herself out of her recline, but it wasn't going very well; stretching upward bothered her back, and she felt something moving in her belly with the change in altitude. Nonetheless, the presence of Doctor Wolk – a woman she trusted, a woman who would be on her side – had surged new life into her. At least until the next contraction.

"Hey you…" Helen greeted her soberly, but this was all she got out before Mary shot off her mouth; fully intending to make the most of this prospect.

"Sweet Jesus…" she couldn't help but voice her incredulity. "Thank Christ. Are you here to tell me what the hell is going on?"

Doctor Wolk did not immediately motor around the opposite side of the bed to examine Mary's stats, but stopped short in the spot Marshall had just left, placing a strong hand on the other woman's shoulder.

"I have no idea what's going on; what have they said to you?"

"Nothing…" Mary groused, surprised at how scratchy her voice sounded; tears and breathing around the clock could account for that. "They said I went into premature labor…" speaking it aloud was enough to make her choke up, and she didn't even fight it. "Nothing else; how can they just leave me here when this is happening?"

"Okay…" Helen marched around the foot of the bed, talking a mile a minute all the while. "I'm really not supposed to be in here, Mary; I have another patient that I have to attend to as soon as I'm beeped. I am going totally against protocol dividing my time like this, but I didn't want to leave you hanging once I heard that you'd checked in…" generous of her; Mary kept quiet while she took her turn at viewing the peaks and valleys on the monitor. "How many weeks are you?"

"Thirty-four tomorrow."

"Have you dilated?"

"Two centimeters."

"Geez…" Helen squinted at the machine before going back to her printout threading through the mechanism. "Your contractions are all over the map; have they had any pattern at all?"

Mary swallowed, "No. I don't think so."

"Okay, well that's actually a good thing; it's when they start getting regular that you're in trouble."

Mary had heard all this before, and was sick of presenting it time and again, but something about Doctor Wolk was comforting. Her rush to get down to business reminded Mary of her work with WITSEC; no time to waste; cutting all the corners, stripping down to nuts and bolts. She felt more zoned in now than she had since she'd arrived, though she continued to tremble, worried about suffering a contraction without Marshall.

"All right…" now she was dispensing with the printout and striding up to Mary's head. "Give me your wrist; I'll take your pulse…"

Almost hungrily, Mary thrust her hand out, chest heaving up and down with anticipation. She took a spectator view for a moment while Doctor Wolk mentally counted the beats of her heart, matching it with the ticking hands on her watch.

"Okay, you're fine there…" Just as swiftly, she pressed her hand to Mary's forehead, "You have a temperature too? God, no wonder you're hankering for some good news; you're all over the place."

"They haven't said anything about my fever," Mary complained, heart thudding uncomfortably just thinking about it. "Or my blood pressure, and Doctor Reese was going to put me on bed rest tomorrow because it's been so high; that's why they thought the twins might come early anyway…"

"Yeah, well your blood pressure's way up; they're gonna wait for it to go down before they send you anywhere…"

Piling one glitch on top of another reduced Mary to tears all over again; while embarrassed, she remembered only too well that Helen had seen this side of her before. She was also courteous enough to pretend not to notice, acknowledging the show of emotion only with a quick pat to her chest.

"They haven't marked anything about you running a fever in these notes…" the physician said absently while she consulted a clipboard, and the knock on her ribcage was not enough to keep Mary from bawling her woes.

"If they know what's going on, why aren't they telling me…?" tears trickled down once more, making it difficult to articulate coherently, but Doctor Wolk brushed this aside, knowing the truth would help.

Fluttering her papers back to the front, she went into attack-mode, "You're being kept in the dark because you're stuck with that blonde bimbo with the water balloons for boobs. She knows her stuff, but she's such a flippant little…" Mary would've laughed if she could've, but Helen cut herself off regardless. "Anyway. Forget about that. Listen to me…"

Mary was struck by the steely, hardened quality to her eyes, and the grip on her shoulder tightened. She knew her escape plan was about to be distributed.

"Doctor Knockers out there may try to push the envelope on your delivery and you _cannot_ let her…"

No problem there, "I won't," Mary promised, startled a physician could have that kind of power.

"If she tries to do something that you don't think is the best course of action, you tell Vickie – she's assigned to you this afternoon, and she's fantastic. She will inform me, and I can step in if I have to."

This was starting to sound like an espionage operation, and Mary even forgot her contractions in her efforts to learn more about her perceived doom.

"How will I know what the best course of action is? I don't know anything about…"

Helen interjected, "I'm gonna tell you." With a deep breath, "If you dilate to three centimeters or more, they'll administer magnesium sulfate through your IV, which would keep you in the hospital probably for forty eight hours while it takes effect and works to stop your contractions…"

Wide-eyed, Mary knew that being in the hospital for two more days would be a nightmare, and hoped there were ways to avoid this method.

"If you don't continue to dilate but keep having contractions, they will likely try to get you to stall out on your own…"

"Stall out?" Mary repeated blankly.

"Premature labor will sometimes just stop," Helen explained further. "That's why they're making you lie on your side and drink all those fluids; it helps decrease the frequency of the contractions."

Did she dare to hope?

"That can take awhile though," the doctor went on. "_Some_ doctors who are more interested in getting through their busy schedule than in the patient's well-being will jump to the front of the line and schedule a delivery if contractions don't stop, which would mean you having a C-section."

At this, Mary almost imploded, "I can't have a C-section! The twins aren't due for another six weeks and their lungs aren't mature enough – I had an amnio on Monday and that's what they told me! If they're born now…"

Helen sliced through this outburst quite neatly, "There is no reason you should have one unless your blood pressure shoots off the charts, because the only way to correct that is to deliver the babies." And there was still more to wade through, "The magnesium sulfate and stalling out are all perfectly acceptable interventions…" that word again. "…But, if our blonde friend out there tries to schedule you for surgery, she's being hasty, and that's when you call me."

Now Mary understood, and she nodded her acceptance, "Okay. Okay…"

"You have rights here; you would have to sign a waiver for them to perform the cesarean, and unless they give you a valid reason – and the only one I can think of is if your blood pressure sky-rockets – then you tell them you want a second opinion."

Now Mary felt armed – lower on the totem pole, but wielding weapons nonetheless. She had an ally besides Marshall. Her goals just went a step further. Stall out and keep her blood pressure down. That would get her through the finish line, wherever it might lead. She was still scared out of her wits, but at least she had a game plan. That was all she could ask for.

"All right," Doctor Wolk clapped her shoulder this time. "I've really gotta go; I'm sorry I can't be more help…"

"No, you helped a lot…" Mary insisted, forever in debt to this woman's advice.

"Well, in any case – just remember what I said."

The inspector planned to tell her she would guard this precious information with her life, when her tummy was gripped in its binding chains once more. She sucked in her breath, wanting to kill herself because she'd stopped her torrent of panting in order to talk to Helen. Knuckles closing around the bedrails, Mary tried to picture Marshall's face. Marshall's sweet, smooth-skinned, dazzling face. The face she loved.

No dice, "Crap…" two cramped exhales through her nose were all she could manage. "I'm having another one…" as if Doctor Wolk couldn't tell.

She did turn gentler with this development, however, and postponed her exit to coach Mary through the pain.

"Did you take a breathing class?" her demeanor was entirely different from nosy nurse number two.

Mary just shook her head, feeling her fingers go numb from clenching around the rails so hard.

"Marshall knows how…"

Now she was rasping for any sort of oxygen she could muster up, in danger of popping a lung, but the mention of her missing significant other seemed to transform Helen out of her doctor persona and into the average everyday friend.

"Yeah, he's on his way…" anything to keep her going, to foil her instinct to lose her marbles. "Listen, try to go limp; really release all the tension you can…"

Impossible, Mary assumed remorsefully, because the squeezing was only getting worse, as it always did. She held herself as stiffly as possible, as though wearing the armor would help keep the contraction at bay. Doctor Wolk was running her palm over Mary's mountain of a stomach as she spoke, not bothering to check if the patient had followed her first order.

"Inhale through your nose first, and then exhale when it feels right; like a big sigh…"

But, Mary continued to feel as trapped as she did every time she went through this song and dance. So anxious to reach the end of the biting ache, she would just breathe and breathe as fast as she could, thinking surely too much oxygen wouldn't be an encumbrance.

Doing it wrong didn't seem to faze Helen, "That's it…good…"

And her lies didn't matter, because Marshall burst back in at that very moment, looking harried about what he might have missed. He did not even spare Doctor Wolk a glance, but darted back to his seat and plunked right down, peeling Mary's hand from the bedrail and allowing her to sever all his fingers rather than the cold metal she'd been working off of before.

"You're getting there…" the man did not even miss a beat, eyes directly on the monitor as they'd been prior to his departure. "It's coming down; way down…" And then, to Helen as Mary rejoined the mortal world, "Is she okay?"

A smile, "She's fine. You guys will have to wait it out, but I gave Mary a plan of action that should make her feel a little better. I'll let her explain it to you."

Marshall nodded as the physician answered a beeping page from inside her breast pocket, knowing it was time she get back to her allotted jobs. With mutual, 'thank-you's' from both, Helen was gone as quickly as she'd blown in, leaving the very capable Marshall in her place.

But, Marshall didn't ask for the strategy right away; he was repentant about having been gone long enough to miss a contraction, and wanted to make sure nothing else had dislodged in his absence. One of the nurses had left out a washcloth and basin he could use to sponge Mary's forehead – both to soak up the sweat and to try and bring her fever down. Inspiration struck and he took it up, lightly dabbing Mary's skin; he was pleased to see her close her eyes and bask in his affection.

"Jinx is up to speed…" he reported evenly, listening to Mary moan with something resembling pleasure at the damper saturating her forehead. "She brought some clothes for both of us, in case…" he stopped; maybe mentioning the vision of going home was not such a good idea. "Just in case," finishing lamely. "Since we both showed up in our Sunday best," even though it was Thursday.

Though Mary had fretted quite a bit about Tripp's welfare, now the sole breadwinner giving eulogies at his mother's funeral, she'd been seeing Marshall through a sort of mist and had forgotten he was still in his dress shirt and tie.

Peering at him while he diligently mopped her brow, she saw that he'd dispensed with his jacket and had rolled up his sleeves, the crimson tie loose at the neck. Perhaps she was so used to him wearing a suit jacket to work that she hadn't noticed he had been looking extra-spiffy without his jeans. In her mind's eye, she remembered that black tent she'd planned on wearing, and with it came Marshall's compliment when they'd still been at the house.

"I looked better before I started all this blow and go…" she murmured sadly.

Marshall was too noble to buy into this, "Nah. I still think you look pretty foxy."

"Foxy?" Mary coughed back at him.

"Foxy, indeed," he was confident. "Not a fan?"

Mary was noncommittal, "Whatever you think," closing her eyes again.

Marshall wasn't spinning falsehoods in any way, either. Sure, his girl was in pain, huge, and downright depressed, but that didn't take away from her rosy, pink cheeks; her big green eyes, quite shiny from the watershed of tears she'd produced. Mary was Mary underneath. And Mary, inside and out, was beautiful.

"Was Jinx okay?" she asked softly behind her drawn lids.

"Yes," Marshall stated boldly. "Worried about you, but fine. Glad to be posted. She was going to call Brandi and let her know what the skinny is…"

"Well, it isn't me…"

"Could this be jokes I hear?"

Nope. Close, but no cigar. The walls were shrinking fast inside Mary's uterus, her stomach twisting and scrunching into a ball; just when she'd tried to fall back into her natural character, she was kicked onto to the ground, being trampled on by the thousands of runners who were going to cease in the race before she would.

But, Mary gritted her teeth, determined, this time, to beat this thing to death with a stick. Between Doctor Wolk's instructions, Marshall's relentless, patient teaching; surely she could pull together a few simple breaths. She could do it.

She would do it.

"Mary?" Marshall himself didn't see the usual wincing and wailing that went along with a contraction, and prodded the blonde when she didn't say anything.

"I…I need your hand…"

Out the corner of her lid, she saw him throw the washcloth onto the table, where it missed and smacked onto the floor. Paying that no mind, he seized her fingers in his and was boosted at once feeling her pulsate his palm with a strength she hadn't displayed thus far.

"Come on…" Marshall was ready to rally. "Come on; here we go. Big breath…"

But, the spike was climaxing; it was pushing the limits; her belly was in a web and the fist was bearing down…

"Take a breath, Mare; you can do it…"

No, she couldn't. Crying was easier; she heard the snivel escape.

"Quick inhale, steady exhale; focus…"

Focus. Focus.

Suddenly, the monitor – the dips and mountains - sprung into Mary's mind. She heard an echo of Marshall's voice telling her what was on the screen in his typical professor way. And she knew what she needed him to do.

"Talk!" she shouted, pumping his hand back and forth. "Talk! Talk about…"

About what?

"About what?" Marshall read her mind.

And Mary bellowed the first thing she could think of; unique in its absurdity.

"Magnesium sulfate!"

It was the most obscure, the most ambiguous thing in the entire world, but when Doctor Wolk had named the chemical, it had immediately triggered Marshall and all the things he must know about the elements. And, if she'd been able to calculate his features, she'd have seen the complete stupefaction that flickered there.

But, this man had already proved that he did not mess around when Mary needed him most.

"Um…uh…magnesium sulfate is…is abbreviated M-G-S-O-4. It…it contains magnesium, sulfate, and oxygen…"

Who cares? Mary thought.

I care! Keep going! Boring crushed the pain.

"It…it is an inorganic salt…"

Salt tasted good. More! More!

"It um…I think they use it for medical purposes and…and in agriculture…"

Like farming? Well, Mary was plowing through; she almost welcomed what she knew was the apex of the flare, that the malevolence was about to hit her hard because she'd found the one thing that enabled her to – as Vickie had said – 'block' the brass knuckles.

"It can sometimes be in the form of Epsom salt, named for a town in England…"

The punch sunk square in her gut, and though the scream threatened to spill from her lips, what came out instead was a long, solid, resolute exhale. Like a round, it was followed by the shallow inhale, and when her head was full of oxygen, the exhale returned; automatic, clockwork.

She breathed.

And Marshall was jubilant, forgetting his partner's wish that he ramble his useless information to his heart's content.

"Way to go!" he hollered, like a small child cheering at a spelling bee. But, then he remembered, "Oh, I mean; the town in England…"

"No-no…" Mary gasped, surprised how much energy she had expended to conquer a sixty second task, shaking her head as well as her hand. "You…you can stop."

Marshall laughed, "Okay," patting her hand he was holding with his free one. "But, Mary…" though this gesture was probably unintelligent given how scared the woman still was, he couldn't help but smile. "That was great; you did it…"

"Well, I did it once…" her head fell back in exhaustion on her pillows, eyes on the ceiling.

"One is better than none," he praised. "I'm really proud of you. Who knew my academic powers could be used for good as well as evil?"

And somehow, someway; Mary would never know how it happened; the stars aligned, the sun shone through; rainbows beamed from behind every cloud. She giggled, weakly and feebly like some baby animal, but that tiny taste of happiness was what she could live on in the hours to come.

Marshall stroked her cheek with one of his long fingers; radiant that he'd been able to perpetrate the light in her eyes.

"There's a smile…" and he gave her one in return. "That's my girl."

XXX

**A/N: I am not sure how many of you expected the goal to be for Mary's labor to be stopped until a later date. Hopefully that's not a disappointment, but for some reason that was how I always saw the story in my head. These past few chapters and the next one were ones that I visualized from the very beginning. I hope it's realistic that the goal would be for Mary to stay pregnant – thirty-four weeks is still pretty early, and while it's 'doable' for twins to come that early, I always think the endgame is for them to be born as close to the due date as possible. In any case, I like to stretch!**

**Enough of my blather – hope you enjoyed!**


	33. Chapter 33

**A/N: I'm glad none of you were too disappointed by the fact that I am trying to delay the babies coming. For some reason, I was worried about that.**

XXX

The morning waned on slowly, and then slipped almost seamlessly into afternoon. Although Mary seemed to do much better coping with her contractions, you couldn't ignore the toll they were taking on her body. That first triumph had been sweet, followed by several more where Marshall prattled on about anything from cumulus clouds to different types of ballpoint pens. Whatever he could spot when Mary was suffering, he grappled the raft line and babbled forth; his monotone was the only thing that seemed to help.

Sadly, however, Mary didn't seem to be in any fit state to return home even past lunchtime. She had not continued to dilate, and so Doctor Wolk's defense chart became moot, but the contractions just hung on – ruthless and prevailing, like a horribly itchy rash. By two o'clock, Mary was visibly worn-out, and her fragile emotional status wormed its way to the forefront; tired of playing positive beats to Marshall's unremitting wealth of worthless facts.

To much coaxing and wheedling from the man himself, he got her to sink into her pillows, to not obsess at every second when the next pierce was coming. It took some doing, but a soft-spoken demeanor and the rhythmic stripes he was drawing in her hair eventually worked their magic. About an hour or so into the mission, Mary fell asleep.

This left nothing for Marshall to do but wait, never leaving her bedside, scrupulously watching the monitor for signs of incoming blows. To his great astonishment, quite a few earthquakes rocked her uterus, but her slumber was not interrupted. This only reinforced just how exhausted she must be.

The hours were long for the man just waiting for another bomb to drop, but around four o'clock he was joined by Jinx, who had probably been having a stroke trying to be patient in the waiting room. Marshall had fallen into a sort of trance with Mary resting, the steady beep-beep-beep of the machines penetrating his skull one-by-one. When Jinx arrived, she was bearing two cups of coffee, and he was slumped sideways in his chair, leaning his chin in his hand. The other one hung limply inside Mary's – the place it had been since she'd gone down.

Tiptoeing on the linoleum like an elf, Jinx brushed his shoulder maternally and he started, blinking up at the woman out of bleary eyes.

"Hi honey…" she whispered, tacking on the greeting she usually reserved for Mary to Marshall. "I brought you a drink if you want one; I have some sugar in my pocket…"

"Thanks…" Marshall replied softly, taking the beverage with no real intention of drinking it, reacting mechanically. "I'm sorry someone hasn't been out in awhile; I just didn't want to leave and have Mary wake up alone…" he gestured at her snoozing form, depositing the coffee and sugar on the night table.

"Don't you apologize; I understand…" Jinx fluttered him away, but her gaze immediately landed on her daughter after the fact. All her features softened; green eyes, so like Mary's, poignant and caring. "Bless her heart…"

A ring-clad finger reached out, as though to touch the latent woman, but Jinx thought better of it and pulled back. Marshall thought he knew what she meant by the commiserating words; Mary definitely appeared worse for wear, even asleep. Her hair was sweaty and matted around her face; her cheeks red and blotchy. It must be hard for a mother to see her child in so much misery.

"How's she doing?" Jinx wanted to know after rethinking her gesture.

"Better, I think," Marshall answered honestly. "She hasn't had any contractions for awhile; I've been watching the screen. And, she wasn't even waking up when they kept up early on; so maybe they're not quite as strong…"

"Oh, that would be wonderful," Jinx breathed, cocking her head at his analysis. "I know she's been completely paranoid the last few weeks that just this sort of thing would happen…"

"Tell me about it," Marshall was in agreement, both troubling to keep their voices down. "She'd feel awful to be here in the hospital over the weekend if it came to that."

"I'd pity the nurses, that's for sure," Jinx gave a ringing laugh, this peculiarity of Mary's personality said with fondness. She turned back to the faithful companion, "How have you been?" doting and beginning to fondle his back. "This can't have been easy for you either; these are your babies too…"

Marshall was somewhat bemused by this take on things; he'd never really even considered how his own trepidation fit into this scenario. Mary was who he was worried about; his priority had been to keep her calm and make sure her symptoms didn't escalate. All in all, victory had been achieved; they'd had a rocky beginning, but Mary had come around in the end. He hardly felt he could take the credit for it either, unable to weigh up being in her shoes.

"Well, by all accounts the kids have been completely unaffected," he pointed to the heart monitor graphing the boy and girl beats. "Bumped around in there, sure; but not even a hiccup."

"I don't imagine that really put Mary at ease," Jinx passed him a dubious grin.

"You know, that's Mary…" Marshall shrugged, his blue orbs fixing his partner with a bleached stare once more. "She won't stop worrying until they're here – probably not even then."

In a twist of events, Jinx seemed to think it would be more pertinent to get to the bottom of what she was really trying to say.

"Marshall, she wants this so much…" and she wasn't looking at the man anymore, but at the woman, who had not a clue they were talking about her. "She's my baby…" that girlish, flighty voice broke, but she gathered herself quickly and Marshall zeroed in on the sincerity of this speech. "I've known her since she was just this little loaf of bread in the nursery and I've never, ever seen her with this…" her face screwed up in concentration. "…This manic, fanatical desire; to get what she wants or die trying. She's always had that fire…"

"It's what makes her Mary," Marshall intoned, more to himself than to Jinx.

"…But, the only time I've ever seen her this determined was when her father left, but she was just a little girl then…"

A faraway sigh breezed through the room, drowning the incessant monitors, and Marshall knew Jinx was seeing that seven-year-old girl. She could picture the blazing ferocity, gritty and indomitable; often a harsh color on such a seemingly innocent child.

"I never thought I'd see it again," Jinx shook her head now. "She was so…broken when James ran out on us. I can't stand the idea of watching her go through that again if she loses these babies."

Marshall watched as she breathed a more measured exhale and she concluded vocalizing that she, as the grandmother, had some fears of her own. Most might think he'd be infuriated of everyone's pessimism by now, but on the contrary. He understood that these taxing times came with joys as well as hardships. While not yet a father, he could practically feel Jinx's none-too-welcome expectancy, and he didn't want to think about the day when he had to witness his own children falling through the cracks.

"Well…" he proceeded cautiously, not wanting to sound dismissive. "It may have taken awhile, but it's possible we are out of the woods – at least for today. Mary can hopefully go home tonight knowing the twins are still alive and kicking. One day at a time, right?"

Jinx's eyes were sparkling, but she was resolute; glad to have Marshall beam some of his good vibes into an otherwise darkened world.

"Of course," she twittered shakily. "Yes. One day at a time. I…I'm sorry, Marshall; I didn't mean to make everything worse…"

He shook his head, cutting across her, "Think nothing of it. You're a mom. I'm learning pretty fast just how much moms want to protect their offspring from all the demons out there," a well-timed jerk of his head toward Mary.

Jinx flashed him a warm, radiant smile; one that made her crimson lips stand out and lit her pale complexion. Fortunately, they were both spared the task of delving deeper with this serious talk, because the third doctor of the day entered the room – quiet, unobtrusive, keeping a low profile.

Not Doctor Wolk or Platinum, this woman boasted a short stature and large brown eyes; she reminded Marshall of Delia, because she seemed to exude sunshine. He couldn't say for sure how he knew this, but by squinting at her nametag, Marshall saw that her first name was Elizabeth. Ironic. Elizabeth was Delia's sister-in-law, the one she'd told him about who had died in the car accident. It seemed there were many women who emanated brightness with this name.

"Mr. Mann?" the physician impelled once she saw an opening in the conversation. When both Marshall and Jinx acknowledged her, she stepped forward, "Hi, I'm Doctor Carter; we had a shift change; Doctor Findley has left…"

Doctor Findley must be Platinum's real name.

While Marshall stood up and shook hands, Jinx decided this was an opportune time to see herself out, "I think I'm gonna head back to your place and see how Brandi left the nursery," she decided. "Let me know if anything changes."

"Oh, of course," Marshall promised. "Would you mind leaving some food out for Beatrix if you're going?"

Jinx patted his arm in assent, "I'd be happy to."

"Thank-you."

And with a level of decorum that Mary's mother rarely displayed, she was gone, with no indication that she was going to listen with her ear pressed to the door, or come up with excuses as to why she needed the details on her daughter's condition. By the time Marshall got over this rare occurrence, Doctor Carter – Elizabeth – had already begun making notes on the rate of Mary's contractions. Marshall thought it best that he stay silent, not wanting to interrupt her work.

Indeed, it was several minutes before she had done a thorough examination of the contractions, Mary's blood pressure, and even some sort of rummaging beneath the blanket, none of which Mary stirred for. Marshall had the impression she was trying to let the woman catch every minute of sleep possible, another reason he grew to respect her in a hurry.

"Well, Mr. Mann…" the woman stepped up to Marshall, consulting her clipboard for a systematic report. "Would you like the good news or the bad news first?"

The taller raised his eyebrows, "There's bad news?"

"Well, minor bad news," she amended; her dark eyes really were quite captivating; they almost seemed to swirl. Taking it to mean that Marshall wanted this to begin with, "I consulted with Miss Shannon's OB, Doctor Reese?" to clarify.

"Yes-yes…" Marshall bobbed his head.

"And she wants Mary to go on mandated bed rest as soon as she gets home – do everything she can to keep the babies in the womb."

Marshall had expected this, which was why only one word caught his fancy. It was a glorious, life-saving, freeing sort of word. When it fell from his mouth, it was as though it had been marked as the one, important phrase in the pinnacle of an old favorite film.

"Home?"

And Doctor Carter smiled, "Yes. Miss Shannon hasn't experienced any contractions for almost two hours – not quite a full two, but close enough. Her blood pressure has gone down considerably, although it's still high enough to be a concern, which is why the bed rest is so essential…"

This sounded good. This sounded promising.

"Both babies have held up very well; they haven't experienced any problems, her fever is gone, and she's stalled at two centimeters, so…"

Marshall's smile must've been catching, because the one doling out the facts laughed at his unrestrained exhilaration.

"So, I see no reason why she shouldn't be able to go home as soon as her discharge papers are ready, which should be any time now," a quick glance to her watch. "Doctor Reese will call her in the morning to go over the details of the bed rest – mostly, it's just important she stays off her feet, except to use the bathroom."

"Oh, Mary won't mind," Marshall declared recklessly, but he was so thrilled he was liable to say anything. "I'm…I'm still working, but her mother and her sister will be able to check in on her and everything…"

"Perfect," the good doctor said kindly. "Well…" she threw the still-snoozing Mary a congratulatory glance. "I'll let you tell her what she's in for. A nurse will be in with those papers as soon as we get them."

"Thank-you," Marshall blundered, pumping one of her hands up and down in both of his. "Thank-you so much."

"Of course, sir."

He didn't even wait to see if she'd left before he flung himself down on the rolling stool he'd occupied for the last six hours, knowing he was going to have to reign in his enthusiasm and not startle Mary upon trying to wake her. Steadying his own rapid breathing, he gently guided her wilted fingers in his sturdy ones. Then, with a smoothness and a serenity, he allowed his lips to flutter onto her forehead, placing tender, flurrying kisses there and patting her hair before he finally heard a low groan that meant Mary had molded into consciousness at last.

Halting his romantics, Marshall sat back and compressed her hand lightly, watched as her lashes began to twitter, until she finally blinked drowsily at him. It undoubtedly took her a moment to realize where she was and what was going on, but understanding took shape in due time. Her faded gaze said she could likely still use a lot more sleep; maybe that she'd even spent the two hours she'd gained with her mind toiling of all the frightening possibilities to come.

"Hey…" Marshall murmured benevolently, casting a brilliant grin on her weary form. And then, unable to contain himself, "Guess what?"

"Mmm…" Mary hummed thickly, holding herself awkwardly, indisputably trying to stay still to avoid unnecessary soreness. "What? What's going on…?" her eyes sunk shut with a sigh. "Are the kids okay?"

"The kids are great," he swore. Tipping her chin because he wanted to see her gorgeous orbs, which she granted, "And so are you."

Mary was too foggy for games, "What do you mean?"

"You are contraction-free. You're going home."

This certainly produced a more flattering reaction; Mary's eyes instantly became more alert and she shifted slightly on the pillow, wanting to believe but not daring to do so. The only thing that didn't change was her voice; it was still dusted with lethargy, but also a hint of hope.

"What? How? I-I thought…"

Marshall extended his palm between them, sweeping the space, "You stalled brilliantly," like it had been a performance. "All systems are go. Well, not entirely. You are bed rest bound, but a small price to pay, I would think."

He seemed to see the wheels turning in Mary's brain as she processed all this, "Yeah. Yeah…"

Marshall also decided he could cut to the chase, "I'm really proud of you, Mary. In fact, I think this is the proudest I've ever felt in my life."

Well, Mary thought this was overselling the point; how proud could he be when this happened all over again? When bed rest didn't do the job it was supposed to and she was right back in this room? She didn't feel she'd done anything for anyone to admire – nothing but bawl and protest and relearn how to breathe. What was there to revel in? It was pure dumb luck these kids were not coming today.

But, Mary felt too fatigued to deal with the overflow of shame this very second. Right now, all she wanted was to go home.

XXX

Even after Mary came around and changed over to a more wakeful guise, Marshall couldn't help noticing she still seemed rather glum. He could hardly blame her, given the day she'd had; if it were him, he knew he'd be sapped of any kind of vigor whatsoever. Still, he had anticipated she'd be comforted about returning home, but if she was, he sure couldn't read it in her face.

By the time the discharge papers were filed and Mary had been unhooked and gotten redressed, it was close to six, and he was starting to wonder if she was hungry. As far as he knew, she hadn't eaten anything all day, unless she'd snuck off for a bite of breakfast that morning. However, when he inquired about dinner, she simply shook her head and batted him away, mumbling something about feeling queasy. Unable to argue, they ventured out to the car in almost total silence, Marshall trying to hold himself off from anchoring her with his forearm the entire ride down in the elevator.

The drive to the house was not much better. Mary sat slumped against the windowpane, staring blankly at the cars flying past on the freeway; Marshall felt too much compunction for her to bother needling her about her feelings. There was no sense and no reason to put her through that, although he distinctly thought he heard sniffles coming from her side of the vehicle.

Jinx was waiting at home, as she'd informed Marshall not long before, only having gotten wind of their arrival about an hour ahead of time. Both Mary and Marshall dragged themselves through the door, the setting sun casting honeyed orange shadows over the living room; lighting up the pots and pans in the kitchen.

Jinx, who had been thumbing through a magazine at the island, jumped to her feet as soon as she heard the click in the lock. She might've reeled herself in at the hospital, but now that they were in the clear, she wasn't going to miss the opportunity to mollycoddle her first born.

"Oh, sweetheart…" she pitched her magazine aside, where it almost landed in the sink, and came swanning across the room, arms outstretched. "Oh, it's so good to have you home…"

Mary's home, Jinx's home – what was the difference, really? Apparently, there wasn't one for the almost mute Mary, and Marshall was somewhat surprised to see her accept her mother's touch, completing the embrace quite nicely. She even stood sedentary for a moment as Jinx patted her back – no simple feat, as the sheer girth of Mary's belly made it hard to govern a whole hug at all.

"My sweet angel…" Jinx crooned, and Marshall had the impulse to leave all together and let the mother and daughter have their moment, but he stayed where he was. "I'm so glad you're all right. How do you feel, honey?"

Marshall heard that same snuffling noise from his partner before she answered, "Okay. Better."

"Well, thank goodness you're out of that hospital," Jinx stepped away, but immediately began fingering the other woman's rather uncombed locks. "You and the babies will be in much better hands here at home."

"Lots of people to look in on them," Marshall chimed in, pressing his palm into Mary's shoulder and jostling it lightly. "Including their mom."

He said this on purpose, to tell Mary in not-so-many words that she still held this title; the events of the day had not stripped her of her right to motherhood. In his forever-complimentary eyes, she had done everything she could when she'd been thrown such a curveball. No amount of whining or bemoaning changed that. Not one bit.

Mary's ears definitely perked at this comment, but she wouldn't look at Marshall and instead scratched her ear vaguely, boring into the carpet like she was hoping to spot stains on its surface.

"Yeah, I…I should really…" a needless cough. "I should really…get to bed though…"

Jinx's conduct changed at once, halting the petting immediately, "Of course. You know, I was thinking baby, you don't have to stay in the bedroom so long as your feet are up…"

"That's true," Marshall tried to sound encouraging.

He knew full-well that Mary would wave the white flag and accept bed rest as her fate because it was best for the twins. However, he'd be shocked if she embraced it, which might account for her downtrodden attitude.

"Bed rest is merely a brand," Marshall chattered on. "You can set up camp in our room, or on the couch if you want."

"The couch would work fine," Jinx nodded zealously, petitioning for this option. "I can bring over some extra pillows and blankets."

But, Mary did not take to being stuck on the couch for three weeks or however much longer she lasted. There was too much activity going on in the living room these days for her to truly relax there; she'd be far too tempted to get up and point fingers at painters and builders and decorators traipsing through to work on the nursery. Plus, the space really was not big enough for her vast circumference unless she sat with her back against the cushions and her feet on the coffee table. This made lying down impossible.

"I…I really think the bedroom is probably best…"

And right now, she couldn't quench the thirst for being there – all by herself. After everything she'd endured, between the frenzy getting ready for the funeral and then the whirling dervish nonsense at the hospital, she'd never felt more tangled up. Alone was how she functioned best. Marshall and Jinx ought to know that.

"I think I'm gonna go on back," Mary concluded flatly while her mother and partner exchanged significant looks. "That Doctor Carter said I should be lying down as soon as I got home, so…"

Fortunately, both parties were in an accepting mood.

"Yes, you go on ahead, honey…"

"I'll let you rest for awhile, then I'll be back to check on you."

"Do you want anything first, Mary?" Jinx's hands were twisting all over the place, just dying to be of service. "A glass of water? Anything to eat?"

At this, she shook her head slowly, much as she'd done with Marshall, "No thanks. I…I'm not really hungry; the meds…they make me nauseous…"

Her mother appeared disappointed; "Oh…" and her face fell. "All right, dear."

Marshall could scarcely believe he had forgotten this very relevant fact about Mary. When she'd been shot and when she'd had her miscarriage and gone through the D and C, she had always brought up the fact that she felt queasy from the intravenous drugs used in hospitals. His hope at this point was that her body would not go the whole nine yards and make her throw up. She'd been through enough.

"I'll join you soon, Mare," the man reinforced. "I'm just gonna call Stan; get an update on things at work, all right?"

Mary spared him a nod before waddling on back to the bedroom – her prison cell, her sanctuary from here on out. Though she would not admit it to anyone, least of all Marshall, another reason she had refused to bunk up on the couch was because she wanted the opportunity to be isolated. Long before boyfriends and twins, she'd been an expert on closing herself in. Now, wracked with sin and shame over almost allowing the babies to be delivered prematurely, she was going to have to rely on that part of herself once more.

Just before she reached the knob and turned it, she heard Jinx's frantic whisper.

"What's wrong with her? She's not even talking; why is she so sad? Are you sure she's all right?"

And even Marshall did not keep his voice to an undertone, "She's just overwhelmed…"

Not exhibiting a disposition that would enable her to sit around and listen to rationalizations about her behavior, Mary continued moving forth and entered her bedroom, shutting the hatch soundly behind her.

How she welcomed her little haven. Knowing that in twenty-four hours time she would be beyond sick of these four walls was extraneous right now. It was quiet. There was no nurse at her elbow, no needle in her arm – although there was a blooming bruise where it had been. The beeping was a distant resonance in her head, but those vicious machines were gone; no more pictures of uninvited rumors about her uterus or her blood pressure.

It was just Mary. Only Mary.

But, as she clambered onto the bed, trying not to think about everything that had gone on since she'd been in this room last, she realized she was not the 'only Mary' she had thought. Beatrix, who had likely been lurking in the bathroom, came stalking into her midst, leaping with grace onto the mattress, and right up to the master she'd missed all day.

"Hey Bean Brain…"

The blonde gave her usual greeting, but instead of simply scratching her ears, she scooped her into her arms, reminding her forcefully of her days as a kitten, when Mary had been so obsessive about her getting lost.

Soaking in unprecedented attention, Beatrix gave a loud and grateful purr, pushing her head underneath Mary's chin, nuzzling close. Her slipshod grey stripes were so pretty underneath the blaze of the low-hanging sun, and the feel of a beating heart against Mary's erratic one seemed to be the trigger she'd been battling against since waking up in the emergency room.

The sweet, unconditional love from one of her most loyal companions sent Mary into one big sopping puddle. She might've been crying all day, but those had been tears of stress; tears that came without asking; tears that trickled just because she'd had no other outlet to express the constant hurt from carrying two babies who were craving getting out.

Now, she sobbed; truly unattractive, hysterical, uproarious Brandi-esque sobbing that made her nose run all down her face, that stung her eyes and dampened Beatrix's fur. The release couldn't be good for the twins, but something told Mary they would be all right while she let herself go.

Clutching her sweet kitty, Mary blubbered for all the fears she'd had coming true in one fell swoop. There were no words, no comforts to describe the whirlwind she'd been certain was going to suck her up and spit her out – half-dead children tethered to monitors in the NICU sparking like crude fireworks in her brain. Scared was the only way to explain it.

Scared. Scared. Petrified. Terrified. No bones about it.

She didn't know how this had happened; how all her efforts had gone to waste. They might be in calmer waters now, but she couldn't be sure the lake wouldn't be a tempest tossed once more. The uncertainty and lack of control was devastating; it was, as she had confessed to Marshall, her father all over again.

And evidently, her wish to be left alone was going to be spoiled. She should've seen it coming, for she was making far too much noise for someone not to notice. Thankfully, it was Marshall who sidled through the door holding a bottle of water as a pretense for coming in. Though mortified he was seeing her like this yet again, Mary could not have asked for a better rescuer if she'd been a princess in a crumbling castle.

"Mary…?"

At first, he didn't even realize what the heaving noises were, but the minute he did, he thumped his bottle on the dresser, where it promptly fell over as he practically sprinted to the bed. Crawling on his hands and knees, he pried Beatrix loose, where she scuttled away and Marshall took her place.

"Mary, come here…come here…"

The placid gentleness to his tone was enough to make Mary forget wanting to box herself in, and she fell in a heap into his arms; drenching the dress shirt he was still wearing, adding to its wrinkles when her nails dug into his back.

And, a few moments in, she felt him rocking her side to side like a little girl.

"Shh…" he enticed her deftly; no press or push evident. "Shh…you're okay…you made it…"

There was only one way to make him understand, and that was giving him the truth.

"I…I…Jesus…" speaking was a chore with her nose all stuffed up and tears clouding her vision. "I was…terrified…"

Marshall's favorite reply, "I know," and still swaying side to side.

"I kept thinking it was gonna happen and…and it was still…it was still so much worse than I even thought it would be…"

The sentence took twice as long to get out because of all the pauses she had to take to allow sniveling to sneak through.

His lips found her temple like a fish to water, "I'm sorry this happened. It isn't fair, but you made it out unscathed and so did Frick and Frack. Try to remember that; it's what really matters."

Mary always marveled at Marshall's ability to see the positive side of everything; to spin any scenario to make it sound like everything had come up roses. There was no one else in the world she could believe of having such a genuine, untainted heart where they eternally maintained their faith in humanity – in the cosmos as a whole.

And yet, this was the first time she considered the possibility that Marshall was not being totally honest. Swallowing and blinking wetness out of her eyes, Mary stayed where she was with her chin over her partner's shoulder; the only real refuge was the one in his arms.

"Marshall…?"

"Hmm?"

"Were _you_ scared?"

The pause was a second too long, and so Mary assumed he would hold firm on his philosophy, but she was wrong.

"Yes. I was."

Floored, but also strangely boosted by the confession, Mary took it a step further.

"For the twins?"

And Marshall remembered Jinx, and the agony she'd been going through envisioning Mary the damaged shell of her former self she'd been when James had walked out the door. But for Marshall, he knew a different, much older, but equally as shattered Mary – and that withdrawn Mary was the only one he feared.

"No…" a whisper, his kiss traveling to her cheek this time. "For you. You already lost Jamie. And I never want to see you bear a loss like that again."

XXX

**A/N: I hope this chapter provided a little bit of relief along with Mary's heartache! Telling Marshall early on to allow her to be scared definitely has her breaking some barriers.**


	34. Chapter 34

**A/N: I hope I've still got readers out there! You all spoiled me last week with your catch-up reviews.**

XXX

Given the guilt over Tripp, the upheaval at the hospital, and the meltdown with Marshall, it would be improbable to think that Mary could achieve any semblance of rest that night. But, her body and mind were in unison begging for a good night of slumber, and their combined efforts did the trick. Mary hadn't slept so soundly since before she'd been pregnant, and maybe not even then. She didn't wake until dawn was showing its new pink face on Friday morning, when Marshall caused her to stir as he got up to take a shower at seven thirty.

Much to Mary's dismay, however, a night of real snoozing didn't seem to do much for her mood. Most would expect her to be irritable and snappy about being stuck in her bed while the rest of the world functioned as normal, but she seemed to have swung in another direction. Dejection settled heavily once Marshall had kissed her hair and bustled off to work; she felt useless for no longer being able to contribute to her job, as if the worthlessness she felt for having combated to keep the twins safe was not enough.

And so, no place to be and no one to talk to, Mary spent most of the morning holed up in the bedroom, lying on her back and staring into space. This gave her plenty of time to mull over her deeds from the day before, and she shuddered when she recalled the boo-hooing and the pleading; all those nurses and doctors watching her fall apart. When she wasn't brooding over this, she entertained herself with possible ideas for the nursery, as she could hear lots of hammering and sawing going on behind her closed door. But, no design that had Jinx or Brandi sketching it in was sure to meet with her approval, even if they had-had input from Seth. At least they didn't have to worry about her seeing it now.

As a result of her down in the dumps demeanor, Mary slept on and off until lunch; when she gazed blankly for long enough, she drifted off without meaning to. Even the hoots and hollers from the workers weren't enough to keep her from her subconscious, though she was certain Jinx was puttering around as well. If they all thought she was snoring away, she might as well be doing it.

But, someone decided to break the code of silence in the afternoon, and it wasn't Jinx or Marshall. Mary was perched on her side, attempting to read with little success, when she felt a throw pillow bash into the side of her head. While it hadn't hurt, the motion was startling enough, and she turned in the direction it had come from to see who she was going to yell at.

"Rise and shine, sleepy!"

A groan, "Squish, go away…" she didn't even have the desire to scold. "I'm not taking visitors."

But, Brandi just flounced right down on the bed, dumping about three grocery sacks onto the mattress beside her, where they made a loud crackling sound. She alone seemed very cheerful – a surefire way to annoy Mary.

"Marshall said its okay," the younger sister came off like a petulant tattletale. "And, when I talked to him earlier, he said you were all sullen and mopey so here I am – guaranteed to brighten your day!" she threw up her arms like some sort of sunbeam and Mary wrinkled her nose in kind.

"Well, that's debatable…" Mary argued, closing her novel and sliding it onto the table. "And how would he know if I'm 'sullen and mopey' anyway? He hasn't seen me since this morning and I was half-dead…"

"He said he'd talked to you on the phone."

That conversation had been one-sided at best, "Yeah, but I hardly said anything."

"Well, maybe that's how he could tell," Brandi suggested mischievously, wiggling her eyebrows as though Mary should've known. "Come on, he can't be here himself and he's going nuts thinking you're all locked up obsessing over the twins and everything that happened yesterday…"

"You seem awfully chipper for a woman who didn't even care enough to join us at the hospital," Mary griped, knowing without question that Brandi wouldn't buy this for a second; the older sister was not one who wanted gawkers congregating in her labor room.

"Yeah, right!" she guffawed predictably. "I was doing you a favor by not showing up. Mom said there wasn't anything to see anyway."

"She wouldn't know; she wasn't in the room."

"Exactly," Brandi was determined to be cooperative. "But, I am here now, and I brought you all sorts of stuff to keep you busy!" she rustled her bags, trying to tempt the grouchy one.

And Mary lived up to how she'd been donned, "I'm not interested," rolling over to face the wall, the better to shield herself from her obnoxiously persistent little sister.

But, pushy was Brandi's middle name, and Mary immediately felt a strapping hand tug at her shoulder, at which point she forced herself to face the other woman once more – a none-too-pleased expression on her bloated face.

"What is the matter with you?" she asked blandly. "Didn't those people tell you I need rest?"

"If by 'those people' you mean Marshall and mom, then yeah," Brandi shrugged and dove into one of her bags, thinking perhaps visual aids might be a bonus in her pursuit of togetherness. "But, mom's still out there, and she said you've been pouting in here all day…"

"Hello!" she barked, starting to get seriously exasperated now, throwing her hands in the air. "I am not supposed to leave the bed – or was that part of 'bed rest' lost on you?"

"Don't insult me, Mare…" she was piling some sort of books and boxes on the bed; Mary couldn't discern the contents from her vantage point. "I am not that stupid…"

"Mmm hmm," a derisive cough.

"She said every time she checked on you, you were asleep or told her to go away."

"You know, all this 'he said, she said' is high school crap," this time, Mary aimed her bare foot at Brandi's knee and tried to kick her, but she couldn't quite reach, which left her swiping at thin air. "I've only been in here a day and already you guys are gossiping behind my back."

Shoving her bounty aside, Brandi folded her arms over her chest at Mary's hem-and-haw, fasting on her with a stern glare. Clearly, she was not budging, no matter what sort of abuse big sister hurled her way.

"Mary," this was a far more adult tone than Brandi typically adopted. "You can't hide forever. We all know you got the scare of the century yesterday, but it's over now. Don't shut everybody away…"

"You are such a drama queen," a roll of her eyes.

"Really," the sandpapery timbre was back. "We _all_ know how you are…"

"This maddening superiority of yours is what's gonna put me back in the hospital…" her head falling back on the pillow.

"Do you really want us smothering you because you're being such a sourpuss?!" now Brandi's eyes grew wider, like Mary was being difficult on purpose.

"Most people would take my need for privacy as a hint!"

"Yeah, and what are you gonna do shut up in here all by yourself?" Brandi shot back amazingly quickly; the older had no idea her reflexes were so sharp. "Going insane over the babies? You can do that with us here." Mary opened her mouth to spit back, as she'd had just about enough of the intervention, but Brandi was full steam ahead, "Anyway, I promised Marshall I wouldn't take no for an answer, so you can button it now!" waggling a finger. "I'm here to stay – look at all the games I got!"

And, as though Mary had already given her the go-ahead, she heaped a new pile of items right in front of her sister, but it was nothing-doing considering she couldn't see over her stomach.

"I don't play games," she pressed on waspishly. "They're for hyper-competitive freaks who don't know the difference between stop and go."

"Because you're not a hyper-competitive freak," Brandi scoffed, but she was obviously eager to get going now that Mary had stopped protesting. "Look…!" she plucked out a box in bright red and green with smiling fruit on the front. "Apples to Apples – this one is hilarious!"

"That's not a real game; it's for bachelorette parties."

"And this one!" another flourish. "Scattergories…"

"Absolutely not; no alphabet games in this house; I don't teach kindergarten…"

"Mary, you're going to have two living, breathing children!" Brandi shook her head scornfully at just how disagreeable her sister could be when she was trying so hard. "You don't think it might be good for them to know the alphabet?"

"That's five years down the road, Squish…"

Wait. Don't. Don't talk about down the road. It was just asking to be disappointed.

"Well then, if you're in the mood for a more _adult_ alphabet game, we could play Scrabble…" a third box appeared from inside the sack, little wooden tiles sprinkled as a decoration, Brandi holding it like a grocery display.

While still peeved about all this merriment being shoved at her, Mary took this option from the other Shannon. She couldn't ever remember having played Scrabble, not even as a child, although Jinx hadn't really been a fan of board games either. She always complained that they were tedious and tiresome; too many rules and restrictions. But of course, when you were half-drunk all the time anything could seem dreary – or just the opposite. It was actually James who had been more partial to recreation, but that had always included cards and no one needed to guess why that was.

"Here I thought when you used the word _adult_, we might be getting somewhere," Mary sniped to avoid acting on these fuzzy memories invading her crabbiness.

Brandi grinned deviously, "Sexy, Mare. But, sorry. It's just regular Scrabble. You want to play?"

Not really. And besides, she had spotted the books Brandi had stacked up when she'd first started unloading the totes, and couldn't imagine what sort of reading material her smut-loving-sister would think she would enjoy. Indeed, the books in question looked much longer and skinnier than a chapter story.

"What are those?" she pointed without responding to Brandi's inquest.

"Oh…" another roguish smirk. Taking three in hand, "You are _so_ gonna give me shit for this, but they're coloring books."

And without further ado, she presented two boxes of crayons from within, stamped with the green Crayola marker on the goldenrod carton. Brandi seemed to have gone all-out, or expected Mary to have a coloring buddy, because not only was there two packages, but there were sixty-four crayons in each.

Mary did put her trademark glower on, but she was already tired of brawling, "My life has come down to this."

"They're super cute!" Brandi crowed, flipping through a few of the pages. "One has darling little animals, another one has jobs, and this one has kids playing in a park…"

Honestly, why was Mary the one birthing these babies? Brandi, with her zest for board games and shading in the lines, was clearly the more natural mother here. When her time came, Mary had the strong suspicion that Brandi would quit her job at the Autoplex at become a stay-at-home-mom. It was obviously going to be the profession she was suited for best.

"Brandi…honestly…" Mary tossed the Scrabble box aside and took a book, the one that had a baseball player printed on the cover. "If you tell _anybody_ that I sat in here and _colored_ all afternoon…"

"Yay!" the younger cut her off and actually clapped her hands, so she resembled some overexcited two-year-old. "I bet it'll be really relaxing; and these pictures are so adorable."

"Where's that promise about not telling anyone?" Mary prompted darkly.

Okay-okay…" Brandi relented, punching open the box of crayons and selecting a blue. "My lips are sealed."

This was enough for Mary, though she didn't really trust her sister, who was on the constant hunt for scandal, to keep this information to herself. She'd tried, right? Though still decidedly droopy, she knew bed rest was going to be hard enough without trying to wring Brandi's neck in the process. After a week of this treatment, she would have her fill, but for now it was easiest to play along.

And in classic Brandi fashion, she jumped right into juicy gossip the minute Mary cracked the spine on her book and started coloring a picture of an astronaut.

"So…" she began. "Mark said he stopped by to see you on Wednesday – before the whole debacle yesterday. How did that go?"

"You mean you two didn't swap stories like a couple of girlfriends?" Mary decided dark purple was a good choice for the spaceman's helmet, unable to believe she was seriously contemplating such a thing.

"He just didn't say much except that you didn't seem to be feeling very good, and that was why he came to the house instead of meeting you at the restaurant."

"Well yeah, that was pretty much the extent of it," Mary lied, fussily shading between the bold black strokes, trying to remember if she'd even engaged in much drawing as a child. "What else was there to talk about?"

Brandi peered upward from her own project, not looking convinced of Mary's nonchalance, "Did he tell you his news?"

Mary knew exactly where this was going, and after yesterday, she wasn't sure she could take something so monumental two days in a row. But, Brandi was known for her impatience and hunger for bouquets of flowers and clean white gowns.

Not going to show her hand, the eldest kept her eyes on her work, "Sure. What? Good for him."

Something that sounded like a scoff eked into the discussion, "He said we should all come to the wedding. Peter and I think we're gonna try. He and Mark get along really well."

Mary knew this. It was Brandi's horning in that had-had them hitting it off in the first place, when she'd tried to secure Mark a job at the dealership. It seemed he'd moved on to bigger and better things, and his ex couldn't help being relieved. She liked Mark very much, but he was best viewed sporadically and at a distance; she had time to miss him that way. He reminded her too much of Jamie for her to want him around all the time – selfish as that might've been.

"He showed me a picture of his fiancée," Brandi continued, putting her first crayon back and plucking a yellow from within. "She's really pretty. Her kid's cute too."

This reminded Mary of a chief component of her visit with the man, "He was worried that the son didn't like him or something. Please. Mark's practically a big kid all by himself. Why wouldn't some little crumb-gobbler love him?"

Brandi grinned; her blue eyes dancing, "Can I tell him you said that? He'd love the compliment."

"No, you can't tell him I said that," Mary rebutted. "The last thing we need is some mushy farewell when he hops that plane on Monday."

"Ah, you and Mark were never really the mushy type."

Mary supposed it said something about Brandi that she'd finally realized this, but she couldn't imagine what. She hadn't forgotten her sister's ludicrous actions the year before when she'd discovered Mary had been – for a short time – pregnant with Mark's baby. There were some wounds that took a long time to heal.

"Anyway…" Mary shrugged in an offhand way. "So, Mark's getting hitched. It happens every day. The world won't stop. Well, mine has, but by the time his wedding rolls around, these twins are gonna be out or I'm gonna be one hell of a medical experiment."

Brandi cackled at this prognosis, "_That's_ optimistic," and with sarcasm. "But, seriously Mare. He'd be thrilled if you showed up in Jersey. Don't you think it'd be nice to go home for a few days? I haven't been back since…" skating around the Chuck calamity. "Well, since I moved here."

Mary decided to let her brush over that 'minor' portion of their lives, because neither of them really needed the aggravation that came with drudging up old boyfriends of Brandi's. Instead, she groped for a grey crayon and kept on talking.

"I'm not really a fancy gown, black tux kind of person, Brandi," she claimed, blurring the visor on the astronaut's headgear. "I went to yours under protest."

"Well, I have a theory about why you're so anti-wedding, but I'm sure you'll tell me to can it before I even get started."

It didn't matter. Mary hated that she was transparent enough that even someone as dimwitted as Brandi could see right through her, but it was obvious she had. It was odd how a ping-pong match such was this topic didn't make the bedridden one angrier. Quite the reverse, her depression seemed to sink back into her bones at the very thought, and the feeling of being less than valuable stole over her once more.

"Say what you're gonna say, Squish," best to get it over with, trying to decide if she should use blue or red for the astronaut's suit. "It's not like I can't guess anyway. What is your brilliant hypothesis about why I am against the concept of weddings?"

While Mary did everything she could to keep her attentions focused on her picture, Brandi abandoned her coloring utensils all together, allowing the cylinders of wax to roll haphazardly across the bed. Out of the corner of her eye, Mary saw that she'd been decorating an illustration of a puppy with a big bow in its hair. But right now, she was determined to have Mary hear her out, one way or another; arms folded in a defensive position.

"Because you want one, and you're too stubborn to admit it."

Mary's eyebrows inched upward toward the face of her coloring book, "Bingo." But the money-marker was not said with the manner that Brandi was right – rather that she'd simply said exactly what Mary had expected her to.

"What, are you telling me I'm wrong?"

"Yes," Mary replied a little too quickly, wearing the point on her crayon because she'd started penning more aggressively.

"Then, why aren't you going to get married?" baby sister goaded. "I _know_ that you aren't ever leaving Marshall's side if you can help it, so there's no good reason not to."

"Maybe I have reasons and I just don't share them with you," about to tear a hole in the paper.

"I don't think you're sharing them with anyone," Brandi contradicted obstinately. "Is it because you don't think you're good enough for Marshall? Because that's the vibe I'm getting."

"I do not send off _vibes_…" grey turning to black from pressing so hard.

"Mary, can't you just…be my sister and…be human for like, a half a second!"

Punch! Went the paper. Her astronaut now had a crater flapping right in the middle of his helmet, but that was really the least of Mary's worries. Flinging her crayon to the mattress, she finally looked up to see Brandi with a stony, defiant expression on her face; one that made her blue eyes turn to hard, crystal sapphires.

"Why the hell do you keep harping on about this?" Mary snarled, orbs widening in her frustration. "What makes it your business? Why do you care so much?"

The response she received was much swifter than she could've expected, "Because I care about _you_."

Mary couldn't stop the sigh that escaped. She despised this comeback because she had no valid counterargument. Could she really fault her sister for bestowing so much uninhibited kindness? She loved Mary – adored her, actually. She always had, even when both had featured ugly, hideous sides to themselves that no one deserved to see. And, Brandi wouldn't continue to belabor this topic if she weren't truly concerned about the reasoning behind Mary's aversion to nuptials.

"Mary…" she exhaled when the taller said nothing, merely frowned. "Marshall loves you," though there had been no words to prove it. "You shouldn't deny yourself this kind of happiness just because you think he's somehow above you…"

Brandi thought she had it all figured out, but she'd still missed the target.

"That is not why I don't want to marry him," her tone was soft, hushed against Brandi's husky, beseeching one. "It's a dumber reason than that, but I'm not going to push the envelope. It's our decision."

Brandi blinked her large, round eyes sadly, making her look the part of the innocent little girl Mary couldn't forget in her sister's most exposed moments. Sometimes, she still saw the whimpering baby from the crib, and it always reminded her how much Brandi thrived on double rainbows, four leaf clovers, and wishing stars.

"There's nothing I can say that'll change your mind…"

Probably not.

"But, just so you know…"

And yet, she wasn't the child from a jail cell after all.

"When someone loves you, it doesn't mean they're giving you charity. It just means they care about you so much that they want to help you any way they can – 'cause they just can't stand the thought of living without you."

XXX

**A/N: I know that several of you have found Brandi annoying in this story, and that's the point, but only to an extent. I wrote her as far more self-centered in 'Empty Arms' than I ever have before, so I wanted to keep her in character. But, I used this chapter to show that yes, she is persistent, but underneath it's because she cares about Mary in her own goofy way.**


	35. Chapter 35

**A/N: Thanks to those who are reading! I appreciate any feedback I can get!**

XXX

Mary was back to languishing by the time Marshall arrived home from work, which was at a far later hour than she was expecting him. Starving, and barely able to keep herself from gnashing her teeth as she fought not to leave her bed for sustenance, she sincerely hoped she wasn't going to have to resort to phoning Jinx about dinner. She had seen quite enough of both her mother and her sister for one day, although she knew she'd better make her peace with it; they were going to be around a lot more with only Marshall holding down the fort at the office until his own leave of absence.

Mary was playing with the apps on her phone when he finally showed up, throwing his jacket onto the end of the bed and looking as though he'd come bolting through the door. By the look on his face, you'd have thought Mary had been bellowing out his name for the last hour, and while this had been a distinct possibility given her hunger, no such wailing had occurred.

"Hi…" he greeted her breathlessly, dumping his briefcase onto the ground and immediately starting to unbutton his work shirt.

"Hey," Mary knew she sounded less than enthused, discarding her phone regardless. "What kept you?"

"I know; I'm sorry I'm late," he'd likely just been getting around to that. "Not that anyone blames you for not being able to come back to work, but it was a bit of a scramble getting things organized today. Fortunately, Delia's new partner came in and I was able to spend the afternoon getting some cases squared away with Stan, since I'm not long for the Sunshine Building myself."

Mary had no idea when Marshall had planned on suspending his duties at the office, since they had no timeframe on when the twins were going to arrive. If he was holding out hope for thirty-seven weeks gestation, Mary had the feeling he was going to be sorely disappointed. After one premature labor scare, she didn't imagine the kids were going to hold firm for another twenty-one days. It had been one of the topics on her mind while she'd stewed by herself all morning.

"Anyway, we got there in the end, but it required some extra hours – as you undeniably noticed," Marshall extended a hand, palm-up to the clock on the bedside table, which told them both it was just after seven. "But, like I said, I'm sorry for the delay."

Mary was not in a real morale-boosting frame of mind, and spewed without thinking, "Well, I'm sorry I became useless overnight."

"Hey," Marshall's tone was sharper and more surprised than she was expecting; he turned from his place at the dresser drawer and gave her a politely rankled sort of look. "Why would you say that about yourself? You know what happened isn't your fault…" But, he took pause and carefully removed a pair of socks before questioning, "Don't you?"

Mary hunched her shoulders, fiddling absently with the humongous old T-shirt she'd been wearing all day. She'd been awfully downtrodden when the day had only just started, given that she wasn't going to work and she was bolted to her bed. But, combine that with Brandi's soppy marriage talk and now Marshall's not-so-routine lateness, and the man was really just lucky Mary was bummed out rather than cross.

"I know that if I'd quit my job a long time ago, I never would've had to take that excursion to the hospital yesterday," she eventually hit to him blandly.

Marshall exhaled as he set his tie on top of the dresser so he'd remember to iron it, "I don't believe that was ever proven. And, nobody is _quitting_ their jobs – unless you know something I don't."

"We're as good as quitting."

"Well, for a woman who is being such a mother hen before her children have even walked the earth, I would think you'd feel beholden to something as authorized as maternity leave."

Mary shook her head at the blanket, "Just not three or six or however many weeks it is now…ahead of schedule."

Marshall's head was now buried in the bottom drawer, likely looking for his plaid pajama pants, "They would like everyone to believe babies come on a schedule, but the reality is – they come when they're ready. And with two, the odds of that just double."

Mary did not know what to say to this bleak thought, and so she kept silent, chewing on her lip as she watched Marshall unzip his jeans and jump into his own drawstring pants. It seemed he'd been dying to unwind after his apparently very arduous day dealing with all the slack Mary had left behind. She was perfectly aware that her partner was not trying to make it sound like she'd left them all out to dry, but she couldn't help feeling that way. This only encouraged her to keep her mouth shut.

"Ah…much better," Marshall declared, but he didn't join Mary on his side of the bed. "Now, if you have followed the rules to the letter, I would be left to assume that you have not been able to make yourself supper yet…"

Mary blinked slowly, pursing her lips as a nonverbal response.

"I will take that as a 'yes,'" the man figured, waving a pointed finger around, and totally not reading Mary's soundless signals that she was not in a buoyant mood. "I was going to treat you even before I was tardy coming home, but after seeing just how behind I was upon getting in the car, I knew I could only pick up the best for my girl…"

He'd roamed to where Mary was slumped in her pillows and tweaked her cheek with his last statement, which was definitely pushing his luck. The blonde could not even say for sure what was fueling her tolerance; she was irked, but hardly irate. The sorrow seemed to be overpowering anything else, and even the heartache was difficult to discern.

"Maybe you should pick up the pace," Mary pressed a hand into the mattress, the better to sit up. "Because, word has it I'm kind of on a clock," she drew a ring around her belly, harking back to Marshall's comments about babies and their agendas, or lack thereof.

"At your service," Marshall gave a mock-bow, producing a coy, half-annoyed, half-amused smile from Mary. "I shall return…"

And he shimmied off to the door, spinning through the hatch like some dancing waiter. Mary could hear him bustling around in the living room as he went about his business – lots of crackling, squeaking, and crunching accompanied a merry song he was humming under his breath. There was little chance he'd present her with anything that would really improve her surliness about being incarcerated, but it was sweet of him to try.

The smell preceded the visual. The scent of garlic and basil; pure Italian wafting out of a carton, fanning and sailing it's steam right up Mary's nose. And, for once, she did not experience the beginnings of morning sickness – or evening sickness, or whatever it was she had at all hours of the day and night. This food was bliss in a box; she didn't have to see it to know what it was, nor did she have to kiss Marshall to show him how grateful she was.

Holding a Styrofoam container, a plate, and a drink in an oversized cup, Marshall waltzed in with his bequest, a self-satisfied smirk on his face.

"Sensitive stomach that you have, I knew pickles and jalapeños were out of the question…"

Mary's eager grin turned to one of disgrace. He was so good to her and she could be such a brat.

"But, do you remember when we first found out you were pregnant and I took you to that high-class Italian bistro downtown?"

Mary did remember. She had been flat-out against the idea of celebrating the event, the same way she was against baby showers and weddings. What man could love a woman like that?

"Yeah, I remember…" she whispered, trying not to let too much of her indignity show. "You ordered for me while I was peeing in the bathroom, like some guy out of the seventies."

"Ah, well…" Marshall shrugged, climbing seductively onto the bed, inching on his knees with his rations and cutlery. "My father taught me a little too well, I suppose."

Funny, Seth had said almost the same thing when Mary had spoken to him the week before – which right now seemed like an eternity ago. Had that ridiculous improvised shower with blankets and muffins really only happened seven days before? She felt like she'd traveled miles since that moment; it was dramatically ironic how she'd thought an amnio was the height of her misgivings. How very wrong she was. Mary's perspective was becoming more and more skewed by the day.

"While I may have stepped on some toes selecting a meal for my date, you and I both agreed that night that I did a spectacular job picking the entrée," and Marshall popped the top on the package, revealing a scorching heap of linguini slathered in marinara sauce, parmesan cheese slowing disintegrating it's powder in the very center.

Mary, truthfully and in an absolutely passé effect, was speechless. Marshall had obviously put some thought into this, and after such a long day at the office too. Her digestive system was indeed extremely finicky; that could not be denied. There were very few foods she could abide without feeling at least a little green around the gills, even if she didn't puke. But, this dish was a sure thing – it had been since the night Mary had first tasted it, when she'd learned her life was about to change in the most fantastic way since she'd lost Jamie.

"Only _my_ woman would prefer quality sustenance over something more intimate," Marshall presented with much wiggling of his eyebrows. "Not that I'm suggesting anything."

Mary snorted, ending her hush, "As if. I'd like to see any man bag me at this size. I think I'm up to four-fifty now."

"Sex is too stress-inducing, anyway," Marshall rationalized, perfectly relaxed; an observation that made Mary giggle against her will; only Marshall would turn down sex for medical reasons.

"You are a trip," she was faux-accusatory, slipping the contents from his hand and digging in his lap for a fork with which to devour them. "But, I…"

The stop mid-sentence came without Mary's consent. She'd been about to say, 'But, I love you' and she didn't know where she'd gotten the notion that she could just blurt out something like that, given all the excruciations over whether Marshall felt the same way. Why had the phrase tried to come so automatically all of a sudden? Normally, it was not even a conscious effort _not_ to say it; for Mary, the reflex was keeping the emotion to herself, not the other way around.

But, Marshall had heard something, displaying a package of garlic bread for Mary to see, "You what?"

Even ailing, Mary was still pretty quick, "I…nothing. You're a trip, but I can't say I'm complaining."

And he grinned, buying into every word, "Well, there's a first, inspector."

Indeed it was. And, unsure how Marshall could think she'd keep talking when there was eatable cooking present, she burrowed her fork through the noodles, twisting them around the teeth in a flourish. In one bite, she was gone; she almost forgot she was pregnant with how scintillatingly delicious the meal was. Even foods she could stomach didn't promote this level of sheer delectability – where she wanted to eat and eat until she popped. That was saying something, considering how close to 'popping' she truly was.

"Oh my holy God…" Mary moaned in appreciation, wondering if Marshall had a napkin nearby because she had the feeling she was smearing sauce across her lips. "Marshall, this is…" there were not appropriate ways to describe this level of paradise; it really was the simple things. "Just…forget everything scathing I've ever said to you."

Marshall laughed, knowing this would change in a matter of days, if not hours, but Mary meant every word. Ecstasy was mingling unpleasantly with growing dishonor; ignoring the nagging voice in the back of her head didn't mean it went away. It was becoming more and more evident that Brandi's guess on why Marshall and Mary were not husband and wife was because Marshall was just too good for latter. She never gave him anything close to the sort of treatment he dropped in her lap. The spaghetti was proof.

"You are blinded by love of pasta," Marshall assumed, not a clue what was going on in Mary's head. "But, I'll take the accolade while I can get it."

"Mark today on your calendar," Mary managed between mouthfuls, cool as a cucumber, playing her role to a T. "Along with all the other days you've catered to me. Speaking of, do you mind…?" she wiggled her fingers behind her. "Being in bed all day, my back's taken a beating…"

"Finally going to accept that massage are you?" the man pretended to roll up his sleeves. "It would be an honor. You'll have to scoot up though, so I can sit behind you…"

Mary did as she was told, though with some complexity. She was considerably stiffer than she was used to, having been sprawled around for most of the day. But, she managed eventually, Mary propelling herself on her butt to the center of the mattress. Once there, Marshall dug right in, using the pads of his fingers to loosen the woman's muscles – pressing, but temperate; he went right to the edge without going over, without pushing into discomfort. It was hard for Mary decide which was more heavenly – her dinner or the rubdown.

"So…" she finally choked something out, once she got over the initial attraction that would not die at Marshall being such a generous lover. "Talk to me about work," still shoveling in linguini. "You know I'm gonna need every last waking detail until you stop going too, and then we'll have to rely on Stan and Delia. And I've gotta tell you, I am not looking forward to that – you can't ever count on on Delia's sugarcoated version of events."

A chuckle sounded from behind her, "Well, now that you mention it, Delia is indeed raring to go. I have surmised that she understands how hard it is for you to be away, but she's eager to do her part. That can't be all bad."

"Depends on your point of view," Mary groused.

"I suppose," Marshall was somewhat steadfast on this. "But, it's nice to know there are people waiting in the wings to help us. Delia, for all her perkiness, does know how to do her job. Stan wouldn't have hired her otherwise."

Actually, Stan had hired her to get Mary's goat after she'd mixed business and pleasure, but that was beside the point.

"But anyway, I suppose the witness you really want to know about is Tripp. Am I right?"

Something like a very weighted stone dropped into Mary's stomach at his name. Deep down, yes, she wanted to know everything about Tripp and how he'd fared at his mother's funeral without her. In truth, she had convinced herself that he had already been moved to another state, because the plan had been to stick all three Sullivans on a plane that very morning. This might very well explain her otherwise mysterious moroseness – never laying eyes on the boy who was like her son was enough to take it out of anybody.

Pausing for the first time with her fork halfway to her mouth, "I…I hadn't thought too much about it," absolutely a bald-faced lie. "I figured he'd be off to the Dakotas or something by now."

"No, he's still here."

Mary nearly got whiplash she turned around so fast. Marshall had taken a hiatus as well, hands poised on her shoulders. But, his face was impassive and unaffected.

"You didn't think Stan would let him get away before you had a chance to say goodbye, did you?"

Well, this was cynical Mary they were talking about, so she had thought that very thing. Her faith in others was severely lacking, but she always told herself there was a good reason for it. James had inadvertently taught her to be very suspect of anyone who came too close.

"I just thought…" it was awkward talking behind her like this. "I mean…he needs to be safe…"

"He is," Marshall swore. "Stan has a detail on the house; all three kids are there. They're leaving Sunday morning." And, before Mary could ask, "I told Tripp he could stop by here tomorrow. It's all arranged, so don't tell me it's a non-starter."

This generated a puckered brow from Mary, but she said nothing, too caught up in what it would be like to have Tripp walking her floors, looking around her bedroom, possibly sitting right where she was now. The image didn't entirely add up. She'd never had a witness at her house before, unless you counted Sam Garfinkel, the rabbi who had come knocking and scared her out of her wits. That had been three years ago now, and even he hadn't come inside.

"He'll be…here?" she mused stupidly, given that Marshall had just covered the plan.

"Well, as you can't leave the horizontal position, that would be the only way to orchestrate a last meeting," Marshall explained, resuming his attempts to dull the ache in his woman's back.

But, Mary couldn't feel it as well now, nor could she taste the richness of her noodles, both of which were disappointing. But, news of Tripp and his unknown future whereabouts put a serious damper on her already crotchety manner. How was she to go about sending him on his way? She felt she should have something to offer, given that the guy was coming all the way out to her home just to see her. In hindsight, she couldn't imagine just how many WITSEC rules this was breaking. Stan must really trust Tripp.

"Where's he going?" she asked, not breaking her reverie and no longer eating.

"When he's relocated?" Marshall queried. "We don't make that call; you remember?" it was kind of him to act so offhand about Mary ignoring a rule that had been in place since the first day of training. "But, my guess would be further east, considering they came from the California-side of the ocean."

"Yeah…" Mary's eyes were fixed on the dresser across the room; she might be memorizing all the designs in the handles. "Right."

Tripp in South Carolina? Maybe Arkansas or even Maine? How could she picture him moving on with his life if she didn't know where he'd be setting up shop? She'd never felt this sort of emptiness from a witness leaving before. Then again, she'd never had a witness quite like Tripp.

Marshall must've noticed she'd lost her appetite, "Mary?"

"Hmm?"

"Aren't you hungry anymore?"

Staring down at the remnants of her spaghetti, she saw that there was little left to demolish, but just the same; she still had the bread and a few swirls of pasta just sitting there. Her craving was not exactly gone; something about the appeal had been lost. This meal didn't seem like such a novelty anymore; the world had blurred in favor of Mary bidding Tripp farewell.

"I…I'm almost done…" she nodded, picturing Marshall viewing the back of her head from his spot on the pillows; his rubbing had slowed trying to dig a hole to the root of her up-and-down mind-set.

"Mary…" using her name again. "There's nothing wrong with missing Tripp. Nothing at all."

He knew her like the back of his hand. So, why didn't Mary know him the same way? She knew his quirks and his eccentricities, but the bottomless, cavernous depths were the ones she couldn't seem to plumb. If she could, she'd find out whether he loved her, even if he never said so. And more importantly, why he cared about her at all when she gave him nothing but angst.

"He'll be fine," she stated starkly, taking another bite of dinner for something to do. "It's what needs to be done."

"That may be so…" Marshall was feeling brave because he didn't have to look her in the eye. "But, it doesn't negate the feeling that you wish he could stay, which I'm sure you are experiencing."

"I…I…it doesn't matter what I think," shaking her head now. "Rules are rules."

"Mary…"

He had to be stopped from repeating her moniker at every turn; it inspired the idea that she might be up for a serious talk, and she wasn't. Unfortunately, Mary's mind was so full of mush that it didn't completely squash the concept of grim discussion. When she interrupted, it was with an even more dismal tale.

"He was there the day that Jamie died."

Marshall suspended his act for a second time, the pads of his long fingers resting softly on Mary's shoulders. She did not know what made her say it, not when she was so adamantly gawking at the contents of the half-open closet, flowed and baggy maternity tops spilling out on hangers; a few pairs of boots scattered on the floor. Focusing so intently on something so trivial did not seem to block out the real issue.

"Sorry?" Marshall tried to shed light on her proclamation, but Mary knew he'd heard perfectly well. "Tripp was…where?"

"At the office…" she sounded like a robot. "He came by to talk about buying a new laptop," she hadn't even known she'd retained this memory until now. "And about ten minutes after he left…" a tough swallow. "You…you took me…"

Why was she doing this to herself? She couldn't even finish the story. Marshall had to do it for her.

"I remember that now," he chimed in semi-helpfully. "I mean, I'd forgotten but…you're right," the massage might as well have been over. "He was there."

Mary knew this was minor and inconsequential. Tripp and Jamie were two completely separate people; from two polarizing parts of Mary's life. One had nothing to do with the other. But, she'd only started becoming close with Tripp after she'd miscarried. True, that soft spot for him had persisted even before that, but it was different post-Jamie. He had been, until now, the son she'd never had.

"Marshall…" following his lead with coining him by his title. "Would you get me a napkin?" random, but essential.

There was a distinct pause, but her partner opted not to prod her any further, "Yeah, sure. Give me just a second."

There was no telling why Marshall had decided to leave her poor stance aside, but he was more intelligent than his initially optimistic attitude would indicate. He knew Mary had been confined to the bed all day, which was enough to set her off in and of itself. Sadness was a walk in the park compared to other emotions he could otherwise be earning.

And Mary spared him a, "Thanks" before he slid off the mattress and out the open door in search of a handkerchief of some kind, before Beatrix could come in and lap up all the stray marinara inside the to-go-carton.

New insight into why she might've cast her iron hold onto Tripp had Mary migrating back to the headboard once Marshall disappeared – to opening the bedside drawer, to searching its boundaries for that very special ultrasound photo of her one and only Jamie. She looked at it sometimes just for a reminder, whether joyful or gloomy, that despite all the inconveniences that came from being pregnant with twins, she wouldn't have it any other way.

Only, the picture wasn't there. Relatively unconcerned at first, and still brooding over Tripp's impending departure, Mary assumed she must've overlooked that tiny, slick piece of paper. It was uncomfortable, after all, trying to paw through the contents of the drawer leaning way over like she was to avoid leaving the bed.

But, the longer she looked – shifted papers aside, upended ancient jewelry and tore through stacks of old bills, she was forced to come to the conclusion that made her panicky and break out in a cold sweat. The picture was gone. Mary never moved it from that one sacred location, although she'd often considered keeping it in the tin in her closet with her father's letters, but she'd never acted on it. Where was it? Had someone taken it? But who? Who else knew it was in the drawer besides Marshall?

This was not any old picture, like losing some memory of her and Brandi playing in the park as little girls. She had dozens of pictures of her and Brandi that would ease the sting from misplacing that one. She only had one, revered snapshot of her beloved Jamie, and there was no getting it back if it had been mislaid. It was this realization that made Mary riffle like a madwoman through the drawer for a third time, stopping herself only just in time from standing up and turning the table upside-down.

When Marshall returned, he did not primarily take in that Mary was in a frenzy; her napkin floated onto the bed, and he went back to his side, taking note of the coloring books on his table that Brandi had left behind from her visit earlier.

"My-my…" he remarked casually, Mary's broad back the only thing facing him. "Have we been sketching during the day…?"

But, he lost his bemused smile when Mary whipped around, intending to get to the bottom of this if it killed her. Marshall blinked and frowned simultaneously at how quickly her funk had evaporated, to be replaced by this brewing fury.

"Where is my picture of Jamie?"

The frown did not leave Marshall's face, but his eyes seemed to brighten in a way that said to Mary he was not totally clueless where this was concerned. Her rage only built at this gesture.

"I…what?"

Mary's endurance was shot, "My picture of Jamie – the sonogram photo! It's not in the drawer! Where is it?"

Marshall fumbled at the harsh tone in her voice, not to mention the manic light to her green orbs, "I…I don't know…"

Mary watched as he left the bed a second time and flurried around to where the blonde was searching, but one half-hearted shuffle of the nearly empty drawer showed Mary that he knew – or at least had a hunch – exactly where her adored image had gotten to. And, she was in no mood for games, no matter how well-intentioned; she knew she was frightening Marshall with her hyperactive reaction, and she was glad.

"Why…why did you want it…?"

And Mary blew her top, "Marshall, if you don't fess up _right now_, I am getting out of this bed and I am tearing the house apart until I find it! The choice is yours!" she knew he'd do anything to keep her off her feet. "Tell me! _Where is my picture?_"

Seeing her clenched jaw, the way she fisted the sheets and sat poised, ready to pounce on either him or every nook and cranny of the house, Marshall knew this was not a Mary to be tampered with. How could he have forgotten how she flipped on a dime these days? She went from dreary to seething in no time flat.

Unfortunately, he still waited a second too long and her bellow made him jump, "MARSHALL!"

This was one of the few times he had to scramble for words, "I…Jinx has it," with a sigh and closing his eyes.

Her disposition was not improved, "Why? Why would my mother have it? What is she doing with it?"

Marshall dropped all pretense in hopes that Mary would simmer down, "She wanted some more pictures for the nursery – you remember when she brought that shoebox over a few nights ago?" Mary gave no indication that she recalled, but Marshall commenced anyway, "I thought there were some in there…" pointing to the open, ransacked drawer. "And, the one of Jamie must've been in the stack. I forgot that's where you kept it; I'm sorry…"

The fact that he was tripping all over himself and looked distinctly afraid because Mary had yelled so noisily did abate her anger slightly. Still, the alarm wouldn't leave her bones. What if Jinx didn't notice the oddity among the pile? What if she lost it without even realizing?

Mary was sick of her life being shrouded in obscurity. The twins were coming, but no one knew when. She was at risk for preeclampsia and premature labor, but there was no telling just how much she could take before either came to fruition. Tripp was leaving and she didn't know where he was going, and she was positive she'd never see him again. Her relic of Jamie was missing and that damn nursery was going to be hush-hush until the kids were six months old if Jinx and Brandi had their way.

"I…I really; I wasn't thinking. It's my fault."

Marshall was still doing everything he could to apologize and get the dour look off Mary's face, and she abided, but only reluctantly.

"Call her tomorrow and tell her to find it and bring it back," she ordered boorishly, but she distinctly saw Marshall sink into acceptance.

"Of course," willing to agree to anything as long as Mary calmed down. "I really am sorry. I…I'm sure Jinx didn't throw it away or anything. She wouldn't do that; if she knew what it was, she'd know…"

"Forget it," Mary interjected without warning, not interested in hearing about all the courtesy her mother was going to extend. "You didn't do it on purpose," though she still sounded quite loud for someone who was trying to be forgiving. "I just…I want it back. That's all."

But, it seemed that whatever Mary really wanted back was something desperately unattainable – the ability to walk, to go to work, to feel useful, to be a mother to someone other than Beatrix. And, come tomorrow afternoon, she was going to be yearning for Tripp's return as well, and that was a guaranteed dark horse if ever she'd seen one.

XXX

**A/N: You know Mary's liable to be depressed as well as testy – her current predicament puts her in a bit of a knot. Hope you guys are still enjoying!**


	36. Chapter 36

**A/N: I hope I'm not bumming anyone out with bed-rest-Mary! Given her situation, I figured she'd be a little dreary; she's just trying to sort out everything she's feeling!**

XXX

"You have a really nice house."

"Tripp, you don't have to say that."

"Well, it's true. So, why wouldn't I say it?"

"Because it makes you sound like a brown-nosing suck-up."

The boy laughed and shook his head at this, unable to stop pacing incessantly around Mary's bedroom where she was parked firmly on the mattress. He seemed afraid to touch anything, afraid to disturb the boxes on the dresser; the lamps on the tables, even twitch the curtains on the windows. It could not have been plainer that Tripp found this arrangement very awkward indeed. Granted, any witness worth their salt would be ill-at-ease in the home of their inspector, but adding on the fact that this particular witness was about to say their final goodbye, and the ineptness only doubled.

Mary's life seemed to be measured in doubles these days.

"You really can sit down," Mary told him for what felt like the fifth time. "The security detail that dropped you off said he could give you an hour," and they'd already wasted ten minutes of that just getting inane chitchat out of the way.

"No, I know…" Tripp bobbed his head at her suggestion, but still would not rest his legs. "I just…I prefer to stand."

"If only I could do the same," Mary groused, taking a solid crack at maintaining some level of cheerfulness, although it was the furthest from how she felt. She didn't want Tripp to be under the impression that his transfer was his own doing. "You'd be surprised how many things get taken away from you when you're carting two kids around."

Tripp chuckled again, "So, you're okay then? After what happened on Thursday? I haven't seen you since then, and I never really knew what happened…" at least he paused in his quickstep to wait for a reply.

"Yeah, I'm fine…" Mary promised with a carefree wave of her hand, as though the entire ordeal had been no big deal at all. "I'm pretty sure you would want me to spare you the gory details of why I couldn't make the funeral though."

"Yeah, I'm good on that," he insisted, slipping his hands into his pockets involuntarily; now that he was stationary, it seemed he was worried about bumping into something again. "Chief McQueen just said you had to go to the hospital, so I thought it might be something serious."

"Well, the fire's out," Mary kept on, surprising even herself with how remote she could pretend to be when she really wanted to make the effort; underneath, she was still the master of hiding her insecurities. "But, I am really sorry Marshall and I couldn't make the funeral. I felt terrible; the timing sucked…"

"Nah, it's okay," Tripp shrugged, as understanding as everybody had thought he was going to be. "Or, wait a minute. Maybe I should tell you that you _shouldn't_ feel terrible, since that's what you _always_ say to me."

Mary managed a smirk this time, crossing her ankles on top of one another from where she reclined against the headboard. Her charge seemed strangely far away from her all the way at the end of the bed, like he was slipping from her grasp this very moment. To the innocent bystander, they were just a pair of old friends having a wholly commonplace catch-up; nothing hard or wrenching was just around the corner. Mary wished she could believe that, but the clock was ticking fast, along with the outwardly irregular beats of her heart.

"Well, I did feel bad," nearly repeating herself, a lot like Tripp had done when he'd apologized for Marshall's black eye. "I would've been there if I could've."

"I know that," Tripp affirmed boldly. "You're always there."

Mary felt her breath snag in her throat, like she might choke. Tripp had likely said such a thing on purpose, to force them both into the subject they were avoiding, but it reminded the Marshal a little too closely of their interactions during his first few months in the program. He had been so uninhabited about professing just how grateful he was that Mary was a part of his life – of Billy's and Gretel's lives. It was always incredibly apparent that he considered himself aimless without his inspector, and it made Mary ache with concern when she thought of him out on his own now, in spite of knowing how capable he was of looking after himself and his siblings.

"Well, not…not always," she replied lamely, nothing else to latch onto from his previous statement. "Not for the funeral I wasn't."

A half-smile appeared on Tripp's quickly sinking features, knowing it would be no use to try and convince Mary of the magnitude she'd held in his life. Frankly, the woman had always viewed herself as lucky to have Tripp, not the other way around. Stuck with each other or not, his only obligation was to seek her out in emergencies, but he'd blown that barrier down a long time ago.

In the silence that began to envelope them, Tripp began to race for something to fill it, knowing Mary well enough to know that she did not favor unvoiced elapses.

"Was…that your mom who answered the door?"

Generally, Mary would never be able to tell him who it was who had opened the hatch to admit him indoors, but all bets were off now. Coming to the inspector's home pretty much nixed any sort of rules that would already be in place.

"Yep…" she said rather flatly. "That was my mom. She's just hanging out until Marshall gets back," though it was Saturday, her partner was still out burning the oil in his jumble to get loose ends tied up for when the babies arrived.

"I thought it might be," Tripp shared, twiddling his thumbs now. "You look like her."

This was not an observation Mary had ever encountered before. Once again, she had to wonder what sort of telescope all these men in her life looked through when making statements about appearance. Jinx was brunette and Mary was blonde. The mother had a dancer's build, while the daughter sustained her broad shoulders from all her Marshal training. One was short, the other tall. The older was fair-skinned and freckled; the younger almost tan and devoid of dapples. Most notably, Mary had always thought, Jinx had fine, elegant fingers – nowhere near the large, drag-queen hands that she possessed. James too had-had very long fingers.

"You think so?" Mary couldn't resist clarification. "That's not one we hear a lot."

"Yeah, totally," Tripp did not back down. "Your eyes. They're identical."

Oddly, this was true, though Mary had never really bothered to notice. Their eyes were the exact same shade of forest green, contrast to James' blue ones, which had been given to Brandi.

"She was nice," the boy continued when Mary didn't elaborate on what she was thinking. "You'd never know she was…" an awkward pause. "Well…you know."

A drunk and disorderly like Maureen? He didn't have to speak the words for Mary to know what he meant, and if he was going to get this close to the center, she was going to push him the rest of the way.

"Tripp…" she sighed, knowing they had reached their limit on darting amongst the real issues at hand; if there was any time for it, it was now. "I don't know if I ever actually said that I was…sorry about what happened to your mom. Given my relationship with her, it can't have been implied…"

"No, I mean…" this young man was forever indulgent. "You don't have to say it; I can tell…"

"Yeah, but it would've been better if I had…"

"Don't they say actions speak louder than words?"

They certainly should. But, if Mary believed that, she wouldn't have been dramatizing over Marshall and his merciless lack of, 'I love you.'

"Most of the time, I guess so," Mary responded. "But, it doesn't hurt to hear the right thing once in awhile. And, I _am_ sorry about you losing your mother. I don't want to make this all about me, but I can only figure how I would've fared if the same thing had gone down with mine…" jerking her head at the closed door. "It's never easy, trying to be the adult, and dealing with a loss like this at the same time has gotta be brutal."

A discrete sniffling came from across the room, and Tripp ran his index finger under his nose, but was able to blink a few times and pull himself together. He didn't seem to be fighting the monster within, rather struggling with the idea that he'd been prepared for losing Maureen like this all his life, and yet still being unable to reconcile the result now that it had actually happened.

"I really wish that things had turned out differently for you, Tripp," Mary spoke up again, sparing him the task of talking back right away. "Beneath all that spiraling out of control, I know your mom was a good person, even if I didn't always show it. I'm not the best at giving people second chances. That's more Marshall's department."

Tripp was purposefully flickering his gaze at the ground, perhaps to conceal whatever emotion might leak out, "If Ben hadn't died…" going back to his father again. "I swear. It just would've been so different."

Mary nodded slowly, fastening onto a strange parallel because Tripp had referred to his dad by his first name, much as she did with Jinx when she spoke about her to other people. But, Ben was a pleasant, satisfyingly simplistic sort of name; no frills and thrills – and with no abnormalities like Jinx's heading.

"Tripp…" she brushed aside their similarities, hoping to see him look up, which he did with distinctly glazed eyes. "Come on. Come and sit down," patting the extra space of mattress near her knees.

While she was playing a softened version of herself, Tripp saw that this was not a woman who was going to be argued with. He was going to have to take his lumps on this one, because they both knew without saying so that this was the end. WITSEC was the very definition of forever – Mary had pointed that out to Maureen herself when she'd been thinking of jet-setting off to New Orleans.

The reminiscence made Mary sad now; Witness Protection wasn't for everyone. Had she been denying Maureen happiness by trying to shackle her in Albuquerque? In some ways, it didn't even matter. That option or the current one, Tripp was never going to see his mother or Mary again.

As it was, the woman was prepared to wait until the boy settled himself right where she had indicated. Regrettably, the looming conversation was sure to augment his already fragile psyche; she'd heard him fogging up trying to talk about Ben.

But, five feet away now, he was organized for the long-haul – poised and lingering to hear Mary say her piece. She suddenly noticed he had green eyes too, but they were closer to hazel, unlike her own. The grey, supple and cloudy quality reminded her of his teenage years – now so long ago.

"Tripp, you can do this."

Mary was as forthright as she'd ever been, shedding her timid coat that had blanketed her since the trip to the emergency room. But, her confidence seemed to splinter the one she was trying to persuade, because he shook his head and his gaze traveled back to his feet.

"I don't know if I can…" already, he was breaking down, the octaves in his voice strained.

"You already have," Mary reminded him, battling to regain his vision. "You started over once, you can do it again."

"But, I had my mom…" his shoulders began to tremble, though no tears were glistening on his stubbly cheeks. "I know she would hardly ever back me up, but there was always that safety net…" childishly, he swiped at his eyes with his sleeve. "I always knew she was there; I could always fall back on her if I really got in trouble. It's what kept me going, to fool myself into thinking she'd come around if I really needed her…" the unfairness of it all was tragic. "And, I don't have that anymore."

Something outrageous seemed to be clawing at Mary in the form of her fingernails; they extended almost of their own accord, and rested tenderly on Tripp's leg. Somehow, she knew it was the right thing to do, just as she'd known when she'd had to inform him of this disastrous event. It was the gesture that made him look up – a little boy in a man's body.

"Tripp, you have yourself; you have Billy and you have Gretel…"

"But, what about you?" he moaned sorrowfully. "I always had you before, and what if these new Marshals aren't the same? What if they won't help me like…like…?"

"They will," Mary could certify that. "That's their job. It'll take some getting used to, but you could end up with someone better than me in the end."

And when his lip began to quiver, it did her in, "There isn't anyone better than you."

It was a hefty chore to keep her cool upon hearing this – such a flattering, genuinely beautiful testimonial that she hadn't anticipated in the least. But, as had already been proven, Mary was a wizard at being composed if she really wanted to. And now she knew was the moment to act – the moment to wear her heart on her sleeve, because if Marshall's muteness on love was any sort of sign, there was nothing to be gained from keeping your feelings to yourself.

"Tripp, I'm gonna tell you something I've never told anybody, okay?" the same hand that had wanted to caress his knee took a trek to his fingers, and pulled them inside. "When you first came to us, I didn't think you were anything special. You were another witness on the roster; protect and secure, that's all we do."

The nods from him helped her to continue; helped her not to feel so raw.

"But, I'm telling you now; you're not like any other witness I've had," last night's realization seemed to be spurring forth without her consent. "You've given me something I didn't even know I needed, and that's the ability to be a parent. I don't know who I was before I figured out I wanted kids, but you filled that void – whether I knew it or not."

He was trying to smile, but it was watery at best, and Mary had to disburse a lot of strength to finish the speech.

"I'm not your mother," she'd made that clear before. "But, it seems I've been this wandering mother with no child all along, and I know I couldn't become a real mom in the next month if not for all that you have taught me." A swallow before the waterworks began, "I'm telling you that you will make it. I may be full of crap, but something I can't explain just knows. I just…I know."

It took Tripp a second to say anything, for he too was resisting the urge to well up. Between the two of them – he a stray puppy left in the rain, and she an overly hormonal pregnant woman, it was a wonder there wasn't a virtual waterfall of tears going on where they sat. Fortunately, Mary's dialogue seemed to keep him from pining temporarily, which was a success in and of itself.

"I don't feel like I've taught you anything," Tripp gave a humble chuckle. "I mean…I was a little shit when we showed up here."

Mary worked out a laugh too, "I'd say the both of us were. Didn't I call myself a 'meddlesome pain in the ass'?"

"Yeah…" Tripp remembered. "I guess you did. But, a nosy kick in the ass for a mother is better than being an orphan."

Just like that, they were back where they'd begun. Mary was disheartened, but not ready to give up. She had Tripp relatively mellow, and she intended to keep him that way. She wasn't someone who engaged in weepy goodbyes, although wasn't entirely sure if she could trust herself in this instance. She was starting to understand the resistance to the jerking force that was WITSEC fought by so many of her charges. It was cruel, this most ultimate of ultimate farewells.

Before responding, she chewed on her lower lip, reflecting on why Tripp's very honest confession had rubbed her the wrong way. Orphan? Orphan was so permanent sounding – irreversible and eternal.

And nothing, not even WITSEC was truly unending – not unless you wanted it to be.

"Tripp, 'orphan' is a label."

Labels were droplets of rain sliding down the roof; the skin you disrobed anytime you were ready to start anew. Mary was only married, a wife, a mother, and an abandoned little girl if she saw herself as such. 'I love you,' as her and Marshall had so insensitively boxed and put on a shelf in the attic, was the exact same thing.

"It's all in how you look at it," she insisted courageously. "And, if an orphan is who you are, then it doesn't have to be _all_ of who you are. You're a brother and a friend – a witness, a student, and parents or no parents, you're still a son."

This seemed to activate a switch in his brain, because he took the philosophy and ran with it, "Did they tell you they found Gretel's father?"

Unable to fathom that one of the men in her life had left out this vast and vital detail, Mary shook her head, "No. Have you talked to him?"

This could be epic – the gateway to a much more effortless future for Tripp, in that he had a grown-up to depend upon, like he'd so painstakingly wished for in Maureen. Mary would feel so much better allowing him to sail off into the sunset if she knew someone was looking after him besides himself. The only complication would come from the cost to her by his departure, but there was no erasing that – father or no father.

"Yeah, on the phone," Tripp answered with a flicker of his old grin. "He's um…he's gonna come with us." And, ignoring Mary's gaping look of amazement, "Stan thought it would give us a really good way to build a family again, or something like that. He's a good guy; I mean, he was shocked about Gretel, but he remembered my mom and he really wants to help us. I guess I can't turn him down if even you all think he's decent."

Quiet triumph drummed in Mary's chest, but it couldn't cloak the selfish discontent that loitered in knowing that Tripp would have a caretaker other than her – though she knew it was absolutely the best thing for him, and quite a coup for it to have happened at all.

"I'm really glad you're giving him a shot," she said diplomatically. "You need someone. We all do."

On that symbolic note, a buzzing sounded from inside Tripp's pocket, and Mary's heart leapt into her throat, knowing that their precious sixty minutes were up. She gazed at him through a kind of haze as he removed his cell just to make sure, scrolling through a text. But, when he glanced up, there was no misreading his features. The phone had gone slack in his hand, the little screen lighting the smallest sliver of a perpetually innocent face.

He was the child getting on the school bus and waving from the window, the awkward middle-schooler approaching his first locker room, and mingling underneath a proud graduate about to stride across the stage to meet his potential. Even that snippet of self-esteem didn't diminish the strong, unyielding resistance to moving on. Mary ought to know. If there was one thing she couldn't keep from fighting, it was change.

"I um…that security guy is waiting out front," Tripp eventually reported. "I'm gonna have to go. I still have to get a few things packed, and our flight heads out tomorrow."

Mary nodded laboriously, trying to take something from the motion, to tell herself it made her look like she was in agreement – that she was perfectly fine. As she'd told Marshall, rules were rules.

"Okay. Right."

Never had she sounded so uniform. Clearly, attempting to rid herself of all emotion made her appear mechanical and, along the way, heartless.

"You've got lots to do."

She wasn't sure why she was still talking, but it took her through Tripp rising, all the while Mary's head screamed for him not to go. How had her father done this? It had been gut-wrenching enough for her to be on the receiving end of the dismissal, but how had he knowingly left his child behind, just watched as she disappeared from the front window? It was taking everything in Mary not to reach out and grab Tripp, but James had done this of his own volition. How?

"I…I'm not really sure what to say," Tripp was nothing if not truthful, though he seemed to echo as though from far away. "Just that…I mean…" fumbling in his pockets. "Thank-you really doesn't seem like enough…"

"It is," Mary said automatically, not wanting to make this harder than it already was. "It's more than enough. Same goes, by the way."

She despised herself for acting as if this were routine. After everything she'd just confessed to him, surely he couldn't think she was feeling at all status quo. He was a smart kid. He knew better. He had to.

"Take care of yourself, Tripp," she blurted out for something else to utter. "I'm gonna…" curling her top lip over her bottom to stop the admission from escaping, because she'd been about to say she was going to miss him. "Just…take care of yourself," covering up.

"Yeah. You too."

For a moment, all he did was stand there, convincing Mary that he planned to stride to the door, turn the knob, and walk out of her life with nothing more than well-wishes and a quick wave. But, Tripp was not the most compassionate man she'd known of this age for nothing; he possessed the attributes instilled of a big brother killing himself trying to keep his siblings sheltered from injury. And, right now, he was in the presence of a vulnerable pregnant woman just minutes from coming apart for the third time in two days. No man of his consideration would leave that alone.

"I…I just…" lost for anything appropriate to elucidate the finality of this discussion, he simply swooped down upon the headboard, and before Mary knew it she was in his arms. "I…I don't know…"

Mary wanted to tell him to stop talking, because words were so elementary; they couldn't mean more than this soft, sweetened embrace; her face against his shoulder, and his chin over hers. There was something wonderful and something terribly poignant at having him so close, at him feeling the compulsion to do more than just express appreciation. Mary could only close her eyes and soak it in; every second and millisecond because this, for lack of a better term, was it.

"Can I ask you something?" a whisper from his end.

"Mmm hmm."

"You think I'd make a good Marshal?"

Flattered didn't begin to describe it. Mary just kept her eyes shut and hung onto this one and only hope that said maybe someday this face would appear before her own once again.

"I think I'll be waiting when you show up at orientation."

A shaky chortle, "See you there, all right?"

Against better judgment, Mary gave him a squeeze, "All right."

And, just like that, it was over. Tripp was moving away, nearly tripping over the bed frame in his backwards stumble to the door. Mary was trying to smile, but in actuality, she did not know how she looked to him. It was entirely possible she appeared just as melancholy as she felt. Certainly, stranger things had happened, but nothing quite like the demolition of her heart into thousands of tiny pieces had ever rocked her ribcage.

At the knob, he turned, "Bye Mary."

Why she gave him permission to leave, she'd never know, just that her head nodded and the redundant phrase escaped her lips as well.

"Bye Tripp."

To Mary's credit, she managed not to burst into tears until he'd left the room, and even then it was not the all-out mess of sobbing she'd expected to overcome her. The wetness dribbled unattractively from the corners of her lids, gathering there before sliding on the slant of her cheekbones. She didn't entirely appreciate the understated reaction herself. The calm had shattered within; all her veins seemed to be shouting from this, another defeat. Her head might as well have been screeching, 'You idiot! He's gone for good! That's awful! You'll never see him again as long as you live!'

Awful it might have been, but Mary could only gather that the minimalist result came from pure and clean unhappiness. She was not angry or scared, but solely somber – nothing more, nothing less. It was truly reminiscent of James climbing in his car and driving away on that cold, February day. At seven years old, she hadn't known how to feel anything but sad. Sad that her daddy was leaving and never coming back, and that old despair seemed to have found a comfortable shoe in her soul on a broiling August afternoon.

Mary was hugging her pillow to her chest, as Beatrix wasn't around, when Jinx worked up the nerve to knock on the door. Hesitant of how long she'd been wallowing, Mary loosened her grip and tried to appear as pokerfaced as possible.

"Yeah – what?"

The noise of a frog in her throat couldn't have been encouraging for her mother, but she poked her head around the frame anyway.

"Sweetheart?" blinking girlishly. "Could I come in for a second?"

Mary coughed in hopes of sounding more natural, "Yeah, sure," even though she wished she could see the mirror from where she was sitting, because her cheeks were probably tearstained.

Jinx progressed and shut the hatch behind her, in spite of the fact that there was no one else in the house to eavesdrop on whatever discussion they were going to have. Without waiting for further invitation, she dropped right down into Tripp's old spot. The covers were still rumpled in the place where he'd sat, but Jinx neglected to spot this.

Her twittering obliviousness didn't last long either; apparently, she was in no mood to play dumb, considering how infrequently Mary attracted visitors.

"Who um…?" her voice was very high-pitched, like she was nervous about her inquiry. "Who was that lovely young man who came to see you?"

Of course, doling out anything concerning Tripp was impractical, but Mary found herself longing unexpectedly for the talent of confiding all these covert secrets in her mother. When she wanted to be, she was a pretty good listener; it was apparent she was trying to look self-effacing at the moment in hopes that Mary would spill.

"Just um…just a friend."

Ridiculous. Mary had no friends, and losing the only person even remotely close to having that designation made her pinch the bridge of her nose, wanting to stem the flow from her nostrils. Unfortunately, this action didn't get by Jinx, who looked worried on the spot.

"Did he upset you?" she wondered, rather hushed. "I couldn't imagine he would; he was such a dear…" that chiming laugh she produced so well. "He called me ma'am when I opened the door!"

Jinx obviously took some pride in this, but Mary didn't want her to think there had been some sort of incident, because who knew to what lengths she would go to protect Mary and her unborn grandchildren.

"No…he didn't upset me…" the absurdity of this view burst the blockade and an unplanned, feeble whimper poured from her mouth, causing Mary to slap her hand over her lips, as if Jinx couldn't see everything going on. "I…he just…he's moving away; I don't know where he's going, and he won't be back."

In her disarray, Mary was going to end up giving away the WITSEC code of ethics, but all Jinx was interested in was that her baby was crying. Nudging herself even closer, she took up her daughter's hand and held it in both of her own. There was a shrewd look on her face that Mary did not usually see in Jinx.

"Honey…" a pacifying whisper. "Does this boy have something to do with the funeral you were supposed to go to on Thursday?"

Mary knew she should not say one way or another, but the control factor was out of her hands. Her head decided to nod before she could stop it, but an alarm in her mind told her this was more than enough to be sharing; anything else would be going overboard. After all, Jinx was far more perceptive than she used to be. Nonetheless, her quiet drive to the crux broke a few obstacles in Mary; she was even able to forget the mystery of Jamie's sonogram photo, which she'd planned to question Jinx about.

"He's just…he's a really good kid…" at least Mary was upholding some level of power over her decrepit emotions, however flimsy. "I've known him a long time and I just…" searching for the correct phrasing. "I just didn't think I'd miss him so much," this was a lie, but she had nothing better to say.

But, Jinx was known for radiating sanguinity, no matter how futile, "Oh, angel…" she patted her cheek lovingly and wiped away a few tears with her pointer finger. "I'm sure you'll see him again someday; you could call him or write him e-mails…"

And here was proof that Jinx knew nothing about WITSEC, as it was clear that Mary's lack of reliance in these logical methods for keeping in touch was baffling to her. And unfortunately, there was no good way to explain without blowing her cover in full.

And so, she only shook her head, "It'll just…it won't be for a long time…"

It was the best she could do, fibbing though she was, and fortuitously, Jinx seemed to understand that the here and now was Mary's primary source of distress. After all, the brunette was definitely a woman who got how hard it was to be shut out in the cold, preventable or otherwise.

"I'm sorry, baby…" Jinx bestowed, obviously still slightly bemused as to why Mary was so torn up over a college kid she'd never laid eyes on before, but she really was trying to understand without pressing her luck. "It's always hard when the people we love leave us," strictly speaking, Mary had not said she felt that way about Tripp, but perhaps her reaction gave her away. "He…he seemed like a very nice boy. He must've really cared about you to come all the way over here to say goodbye."

Mary hadn't entirely looked at it this way, but she knew Jinx was right. Tripp, beginning to end, had rarely left her side – not in character or in spirit. He was as loyal and as dedicated as they came, second only to Marshall when honoring his commitments. This only alerted her once more to just how much she'd been forced to give up this afternoon, a realization that elicited another weeping whine for Jinx to see.

"Mary honey…" it was eating her up not to go the full maternal nine yards. "Come here; give me a hug…its okay…"

Okay or not, Mary didn't care what weakness she was succumbing to; Jinx's grasp was inviting and as parental as they came. It was a one-armed hold, but Mary appreciated it just the same; in many ways, it was a relief not to wrestle with her sentiments. The valve on her emotions seemed to be firmly in the on position since the premature labor episode.

"You're dealing with so much, Mary…" Jinx made her sound much more gracious than she really was. "And you're making time to help people like him too. I love you sweetheart."

It wasn't coming from Marshall, but right now, it was just comforting to hear it.

"I love you too mom."

XXX

**A/N: So, farewell Tripp! I had a lot of fun writing him as Mary's "surrogate son" for want of a better term. But, hopefully I left him a decent place – nervous about moving on, but with Gretel's dad to give him a hand, and Mary's blessing. **


	37. Chapter 37

**A/N: I may have only a small band of reviewers, but you guys are as loyal as they come. I couldn't ask for anything better. I am so glad my buddy Jayne got caught up – because I couldn't help thinking of her for this chapter!**

XXX

Mary was still floundering by the time Marshall got home that evening, long after Jinx had left. She'd adopted the same method of dwelling as she had the day before because really, what else was there to do? While the coloring books had provided some sense of relaxation, penning drawings without someone like Brandi around seemed silly and juvenile, especially given that she'd just reserved Tripp a seat on a plane to God only knew where.

In her alone time, she thought a lot about Gretel's dad, wondering if he would fill some sort of bareness for Tripp and Billy since Ben's heart attack. This was something Mary had never experienced, as Jinx had never found a man she'd loved as much as James – a depressing thought so far in the future. Surely there were better fish in the sea.

It was close to six when Marshall walked through the door, by which point Mary had given up on pondering and had been trying to take a nap. Her partner found her beneath the covers, only the top of her hair visible above the sheets. A floating kiss on her forehead was what stirred her, although she hadn't really been sleeping anyway.

"Hey…" he greeted her blurry green gaze with a gentle blue one, like cadenced waves in the ocean. "Sorry if I woke you…"

"No…" Mary assured him dismally. "I was just lying down for a minute. It's late…" she observed, elbowing up from her reclined position to prop herself against the headboard. "I mean, late for you to be getting in on a Saturday. Have you been working all this time?" she still felt badly she couldn't help him.

"Yes and no," Marshall relayed somewhat conspicuously, but Mary didn't have the energy to decode. "How are you?" he settled himself in the seat often-occupied that day, first by Tripp and then by Jinx. "You feeling up for dinner or do you want to wait a bit?"

There was too much tenderness in his tone for it to be coincidental; he obviously knew that her late afternoon nap was a result of an ominous hour saying goodbye to Tripp. How could he not know? He and Stan had orchestrated the whole thing under the wire, because if D.C. found out they'd smashed the WITSEC fence, there would be hell to pay.

Mary decided she could play along, "I'm not really hungry yet. Sorry. You should eat if you want to, though."

"Nah, I can hold out a little longer," under ordinary circumstances, Mary would've found this dumb; there was no reason for him to starve himself trying to be a gentleman. "I wanted to check on you first."

A shrug, "Well, here I am. Right where you left me."

Marshall bypassed the forced cordialness, "Did it go okay with Tripp?"

'Okay' was pretty relative, but also very fitting. There had been no elongated embrace, with lots of sobbing and clinging, but there had existed a definite struggle between the two. Neither found themselves in a position they wished to be; Tripp wanted to stay in Albuquerque and Mary had wanted to keep him there. But, both had put up a façade – Tripp faking that he was fine with the move and Mary feigning total confidence in his ability to readjust. There'd been some deepness and hand-holding, but all in all they'd done 'okay.'

"As well as can be expected I guess," Mary reported sullenly, shifting the comforter around her middle. "How else could it go?"

Marshall nodded, his hand landing on her forearm, "Are you all right?"

Mary was honest, "Not really but…what's done is done. He's gonna be safe, he's got Gretel's dad going with him…" all these justifications made her head hurt. "He doesn't need me."

This earned her a head tilted to one side, "Mary, you know that isn't true. He's always needed you; it's because of you that he has the strength to pick himself up and start again…"

"Marshall, I know that," she interrupted, but with no malice in her voice. "Just…if I tell myself he doesn't need me, then it's easier, okay?" unhealthy though it might have been. "I'm well aware that's selfish and stupid but I don't need something else to worry about."

And, he did not dispute the point, "I would say that's a fair assessment." To prove he wasn't going to harangue the issue to pieces, "Would you like to know why I was late getting home again?"

"I guess."

"Well…" a reluctant smirk wormed its way onto his face. "It was supposed to be a surprise."

Mary glowered without meaning to, "Marshall, I'm not really in the 'surprise' kind of mood." Whatever he'd cooked up was sure to dampen her spirits, not raise them, "The whole 'nursery surprise' has been a disaster from the get-go. I don't think I can take something else in the same category."

Raising a jaunty finger, Marshall stood back up, "I can assure you and cross my heart that it has nothing to do with the nursery – which is almost finished, by the way." Not waiting for any sort of snark about this, he continued, "And, this does not involve guessing games of any kind. The surprise is already here – I just have to show it to you."

"If you say so," Mary did not smile, truly not in any sort of state to appreciate goodwill, just to be disappointed at the big reveal. "But if it's so outlandish I end up back in the hospital, then the blood's on your hands."

"Gruesome _and_ negative," he pointed out, wandering back toward the door. "But, I have no concerns about your wellness; I should point that out up front."

"Even if you give me a stroke?"

"I have enough conviction that your reaction will be not so severe."

"Whatever," Mary griped, folding her arms and not willing to sell herself to this cockamamie nonsense for one second; so few things in the last two weeks had given her spontaneous pleasure. Why start now? "But, let's see it. What's behind door number one?"

She just wanted to get this over with and go back to sulking. She'd already been good at it, but her current predicament made her an expert. And Marshall looked far too happy for a man whose woman was shooting him down at every possible turn. In hindsight, Mary wondered if she'd be letting him down as well as herself if she didn't approve of the exposure.

Nonetheless, his upbeat nature did not fade away, "I'm glad you asked, inspector," he rotated the handle on the door, and Mary watched him stand in the frame and beckon with his finger, a puzzling act because it was a gesture he typically used with Beatrix. "If this doesn't cheer you up, then I am definitely stumped."

Confused now, Mary sat up a little straighter to see what was going on, and the being striding down the hall seemed to materialize in slow motion. The form came in pieces – the jeans, the worn navy button-up with the pinstripes, the cowboy boots. And then the chiseled cheekbones and the rugged but dazzling cobalt eyes, not unlike those of someone else Mary knew.

By the time she registered the receding line of dark hair and the satisfied smirk beneath his nose, she was already caught agape and her heart had long since soared out the window. He needn't have spoken, because his presence was enough, but she was grateful a thousand times over that he did.

The voice was gruff and smoke-burnished. Confirmation that this was real.

"Hey doll!"

Mary didn't know what to say or do, just that the rampant joy she hadn't felt in so long was playing a steady tempo in her heart. Why this brought her such elation, there really wasn't an explanation, but she knew that this man was the closest thing to her own father she was ever going to have. And he was here – here to laugh with, to talk to, to be sheltered within. Just as a father should.

"Sweet Jesus – nobody tells me anything!"

But the over-exaggerated manner of her outburst had both Manns cracking up, and to be so brash made Mary feel like Mary again – the old Mary, a Mary she was afraid she'd lost.

"Seriously, did this Poindexter fly you in and use my practically comatose condition to hide it from me?" the sarcasm was rich and familiar. "What is with this guy and hokey reveals?"

"Ah, he must get that from his mother…" Seth decided, striding forth to the bed where Mary was still concealed under her blankets. "I admit I didn't think he'd pull it off, given that you were the one I tried to arrange this with, but desperate times and all…"

"Yeah-yeah," Mary mocked complaining. "Come on old man; my situation relegates I keep my ass where it is, so hurry it on up…" wiggling her fingers to her chest; it was the first time in ages she'd been the one to initiate a hug, never mind just how many individuals she'd hung onto in the last three days alone.

"Well, I couldn't have asked for a better greeting…"

Mary all-but threw her arms around him once he was close enough, knowing she was a walking cliché of a child that longed day and night for a father who was never coming. It didn't matter; if she could pretend with Seth, she was going to do it. The way he doted on her, understood her jokes and was able to combat her cynicism with the best of them meant he was the perfect match for her previously downtrodden demeanor. Marshall was good. He was really-really good.

"You came all this way to see me?" she couldn't resist fawning before he backed up.

"To see you _and_ the little soldiers. Don't take all the credit."

And when Marshall saw Mary laugh, he could not help the surge of delight that gushed in his veins. He hadn't seen her this happy – this free or lighthearted or loose in what felt like a lifetime. The burden of fretting over the twins had taken a very heavy toll; Tripp and bed rest on top of it was just extra weight she was being forced to carry. If his dad could ease that encumbrance, he only wished he'd brought him to town sooner.

"Well, how…how was your flight?" Mary asked enthusiastically once they parted, feeling especially polite for some reason. "I don't know how long it takes to get from Montana to here…"

"It's not far," Seth described. "Hey Marshall, you think you could grab me a chair?" he turned his head over to address his son. "Mary and I have some catching up to do."

"Sure, dad…" Marshall was game for whatever had Mary sitting up and chattering the way she was ready to do. "I'll grab one from the kitchen."

As soon as he disappeared, Seth contradicted his request by inching onto the edge of the bed where there was not much space. But, it appeared there was a reason he wanted to get closer to Mary, especially now that the other man had left the room.

"Now, before your nursemaid gets back, give it to me straight," using a very interrogative tone that reminded Mary of how he'd been when they'd first met. "Are you surviving all laid-up? Because I know I wouldn't be."

Mary grinned. Everything was funny.

"It's not much of a picnic," she admitted. "But, I'm managing. I suppose Marshall mentioned where we had to go on Thursday," a roll of her eyes.

"Yeah, he said something about that," Seth went on. "But, I figure you're putting on a bit of a show for him…"

"Not hardly," Mary muttered under her breath.

"I guess what I'm saying is…if you want to vent to somebody or need anything…" he spread his arms out in front of him, palms up. "I am at your beck and call."

Mary had forever pined for a father who would say that.

"You being here is enough," she was practically mooning she was so happy. "Trust me."

Before Seth could respond to this sappy statement, Marshall returned lugging a chair for him to slide into. The partner took his place at Mary's feet, where she was already throwing off her covers so he could rub them. He'd truly never seen her quite like this before; she seemed so hungry, ravenous for this unique brand of attention from an older man willing to grovel on her every move. She hadn't been kidding when she'd confessed to missing her own dad.

"So…" Seth clapped his hands together, not going to delve into the messier issues now that Marshall was back. "You asked how my plane ride was. Bit of turbulence coming in, but nothing a seasoned US Falcon can't handle."

"Always boasting," Marshall chimed in, safer taking jabs at his father since he'd gone more placid with retirement. "And don't think he wouldn't have gone straight into the cockpit to raise hell if there'd been some kind of electrical problem."

The other was completely unabashed, "Nobody says no to Seth Mann."

"Yeah, I tried once," Marshall proclaimed, kneading his thumbs into Mary's toes, who seemed content just to listen with that gorgeous light dancing in her eyes. "When I was three or something? Still gives me nightmares."

"Ah, I'm sure you were just a sissy boy," Mary teased, breaking her silence. "Needed to know that dad was boss."

"You've got that right," Seth backed her up, leaving Marshall to look mock-wounded and stop massaging Mary's feet, which gained him a slap on the wrist to allow him to commence. "Something tells me I know who's gonna be in charge when those two sweet peas arrive," the older sketched a ring around Mary's belly.

"You know, I would've left you in Montana if I'd known I was going to get nothing but insults," Marshall picked up the thread brilliantly.

"And, who said this was about you?" Mary batted back playfully.

Seth chortled heartily at their household repartee, leaning back in his chair with his elbows folded beneath his neck. He couldn't have looked more at ease, and it was taking all the friction right out of the room. Every curt thought that had invaded Mary's mind seemed to have dissolved in the blink of an eye. It was amazing that a man who had once originated so much tension and turmoil could bring about this feeling of peace. It must be the Marshall in him.

"You two remind me of Laura and me when we were young," there was an evocative quality to his voice. "But of course, Laura was more like Marshall here."

"Are you trying to tell me I am feminine, dad?"

"You're just figuring that out now?" Mary joshed. "Haven't you been listening for the past ten years you've known me?"

"It's one thing for your significant other to say it…" she was even willing to overlook that term for all the merriment being spread around. "It is quite another to learn dear old dad thinks his son is less than masculine."

Seth could only grin, his eyes darting back and forth between his son and his would-be-daughter-in-law. There was pride evident in every single line of his face, reveling in having sent a child into the world that would give him a woman as brazen and sassy as Mary. He might never have envisioned his three boys as Marshal-material in their youth, but he'd come around. And after all, if Marshall hadn't joined law enforcement, there would be no Mary to speak of.

"Less than masculine or not, son…" he tipped his chin downward at both of them, the highest authority in this room. "You can't be any kind of yellow belly and hook up with a great gal like this one."

And Marshall was bursting with bliss at seeing the impromptu blush rise like a fire in Mary's cheeks.

XXX

"Dad, I can't thank-you enough for coming."

Marshall and Seth were in the kitchen, after the former had insisted Mary get to bed around ten, knowing both her and the twins needed their rest. Marshall had set about acquiring bottles of beer for him and his father, somewhat anxious to have him all to himself, although he hardly minded sharing.

"It's my pleasure, son," Seth insisted, popping the top on his bottle and taking a long swig, seating himself on a stool at the island. "My time is not so limited now that I have settled into sequestration."

The younger had to smile at the fancy verbiage, knowing he would've used a similar phrase. Although Marshall had always viewed himself and his dad as polar opposites, there were certain equivalents they couldn't let go of.

"Well, whatever the reason…" Marshall took the stool across from Seth and sipped from his own flask. "Mary's obviously thrilled you're here. She lit up when you came in the room. If you'd been here – in the last two weeks especially – you would know how rare an act that is."

Seth's eyes twinkled, "She's quite a girl, Marshall. A real go-getter. She'll know how to handle those kids of yours; make no mistake." And before they could land on that subject, which had already been discussed, "I love you and Travis and Carson of course, but your mother always wanted a girl…"

"Really?" Marshall had never heard this before, but it didn't surprise him. "I mean, that's natural…"

"But, I always thought I had it made missing out on a daughter," running his finger around the rim of the beer. "Just because I was never sure how to handle young ladies. I'm not a sensitive enough guy for them."

"I'd say you deserve more kudos than that, dad."

"But, I'd say I lucked out big time with Mary," ignoring his son's praise. "She knows how to play, doesn't she? I like that spunk," the dreamy smirk just wouldn't drop from his face.

Marshall leaned back in his chair, so overjoyed that there was such mutual adoration on both sides of the hedge in this relationship. Mary could be tough to get along with, and given her aversion to paternal-related matters, there had been no telling how she and Seth would hit it off beyond that first meeting. By the same token, Seth himself held people to a very high standard, and the woman didn't ordinarily have the patience for people who placed stipulations on her behavior.

One way or another though, both had molded marvelously into a dynamite duo, and Marshall saw no reason why this fact shouldn't be noted.

"Well, its good she has you now," he spoke up, downing more of his beverage. "Mary still has a rough time reconciling her father walking out when she was seven; it's nice she has someone in that role to turn to these days."

To his mystification, however, a scowl appeared on Seth's face, and he set his beer atop the counter, looking perplexed.

"It's high time she left him in the rearview, Marshall," this opinion was not unexpected, but still somewhat irksome. "The man is an FBI Most Wanted. She has no business hoping he shows up on her doorstep."

A sigh escaped, "Dad, it's not that simple. It's not like she's just wrapped up in anguish over James day after day. Most of the time, she actually does a spectacular job hiding how she really feels about him," not that Marshall appreciated the veil his woman put up. "But, I don't think what he did is something you really get over. So she keeps a few old letters and a necklace. It's not hurting anything."

"Except her ego," Seth decided at once, pointing a long finger of clout. "She'd be better off realizing she has family in the here and now that will do a lot more for her than that con ever will."

"She knows that," Marshall reminded him, unable to believe the older man was truly that disparaging about Mary's attitude. "But, one doesn't outweigh the other. She can still value the people who are here and miss him every once in awhile."

"I suppose…" but the other didn't sound convinced. "At least she can count on the fact that you'll be a much better father than hers was."

"We don't explicitly say it as such," Marshall contradicted, but more than happy to be off the original topic; Seth's disapproval of Mary's pining was a definite way to get them into trouble and his partner didn't need additional blows to her self-esteem. "But, I plan on doing more than just 'not abandoning' my children to prove my worth as a father."

"Have you thought about what any of those endeavors might be?"

The way his father was staring at him, so abruptly steely and probing, stole a feeling over the son that he didn't entirely welcome. Seth's newfound geniality was a comfortable net to be entwined in, but it was unwise if not downright unintelligent to ignore who he'd been for the first fifty plus years of his life. He was harsh and outspoken if the result was getting the job done, and Marshall had the sudden inkling he was in for a lecture.

Initially, he thought it best he simply lay low, "I'm not sure what you're getting at, dad," but the involuntarily sip of his drink gave away his nerves.

After all, Marshall was a pro at his job as well. He knew what gestures indicated disquiet.

"Son, I've known you your whole life. You can't tell me you're not idealizing fatherhood."

Marshall couldn't help but take pause, but this was something he could've foreseen. After all, Mary accused him of living in some fantasy land all the time. They were the very definition of opposites attracting; he was the sunshine to her rainstorms day in and out. But, didn't one of them have to be positive? Much as he loved Mary, her doomsday attitude could become wearing without something to counteract it.

And again, he refused to appear ruffled, "There's nothing wrong with seeing the bright side."

"Marshall, being a father is not all fun and games."

"Well, believe it or not dad, I'm a grown man – I've had the 'responsibility' talk," not that he wanted to sound condescending. "I am well-prepared for binary rounds of crying and diapers and three A.M. feedings."

"And what about when they get older?" Seth was relentless. "When they're throwing tantrums in department stores and ganging up on you to go to the R-rated movie or refusing to do their homework because they want to join the neighborhood baseball game?"

Marshall had a variety of responses to this off-putting view, but none of them seemed appropriate. He knew the older man was testing him, waiting to see if he became flustered or caught-off-guard. Seth liked to prepare his children for all the obstacles there were in life, no matter how daunting they might seem.

"And which one of us threw tantrums?" he was blasé.

"Travis. But, by the time you and Carson came along, the lesson was well learned."

"Dad, all kids go through stuff like that," though he didn't enjoy thinking about it. "Mary and I will work together to sort them out. We've been working together for ten years; it'll be a snap."

"That's where I think you're making an oversight," he was drumming his fingers on the glass now, coming in for the kill. "You can be at conversing ends of the spectrum when it comes to your job all you want. Being a parent is an entirely new playing field."

And still Marshall would not take the bait, "I don't imagine Mary and I will have life-altering disagreements over the twins, but I guess you never know."

"Don't you?" raised eyebrows; always a bad sign. "When your son comes home drunk and you want to let him off the hook while Mary wants to turn him in for community service, you don't anticipate there being a problem?"

The man had him here. Marshall, a very calculating individual, had not predicted circumstances such as these. Indeed, in a lawful state of affairs, there might be a few things to hash out between him and his woman. It was one thing to disagree over how to discipline a run-amok witness. But their own flesh and blood? Not so easy.

But Marshall snubbed giving Seth any sort of satisfaction, "And who's to say I won't be the bad cop and turn my boy in?" his beer was nearly empty, and yet he tried to drink regardless. "It's beside the point anyway. Couples disagree, just like their offspring cause mayhem – its par for the course. Do you have some sort of solution for these inevitable occurrences?"

Seth leaned forward, elbows on the counter, his penetrating stare very similar to the man whose eyes he was looking into. But, Marshall knew the look too well not to be apprehensive about seeing it. Deep within, he was still a little boy who could fear a father with a gun in his belt loop and rampage on the criminal's soul.

"I'm not telling you to be the perfect father, son," that was a relief. "Because lord knows I was not one. But, there was one thing that your mother and I always prided ourselves on when it came to you boys, and that's what I want you to remember."

Marshall swallowed, steeling himself for the avalanche, "And what's that?"

Fortunately, Seth was swift, "Stability. Kids need to know they have both a mother _and_ a father in the next room when the lights go out – that both, without question, will be there when the shit starts to go down."

Startled by the profanity, Marshall blinked benignly, wondering where he was missing the mark on this prerequisite. But, that was before his father added the afterthought – coining a difference the younger had never realized until this moment.

"A partner is all well and good," the blaze in his blues was exactly like his son's. "But, until you put a ring on that girl's finger, that is all you two will ever be."

XXX

Mary was already asleep when Marshall went to bed at midnight with his mind buzzing, even though Seth was busy toiling the streets of Albuquerque on the way to his hotel. His father definitely had a way of lighting a fire in him, but whether good or bad, the jury was still out. There had yet to be a man in his life who made him squirm so profusely. Ironic, how Mary had-had a father who hadn't cared enough and he had a father who cared almost _too_ much.

Despite being zonked out, the blonde had left his bedside lamp on, casting a warm yellow glow on her immense snoozing form. Beneath his racing thoughts, he was pleased she seemed to have finally found a happy medium in terms of her body temperature. She wore the sheets loosely over her belly, but not the entire blanket. Marshall could only take a gander on just how roasting she'd been since summer had arrived, up until now.

He tinkered around momentarily with the light still on, making sure his cell phone was nearby, but Mary had littered his table with the coloring books he'd spotted the day before. One had been left open on the wooden surface, the cover curling from having been rolled up to show only one page. Fingering the thin, flimsy off-white of the paper, Marshall felt the perforated edges zippering along the spine, as though a sheet had been torn out.

Flipping the book over, he studied the colorful cover, depicting a toothy little boy in a bright red baseball cap swinging a bat the size of a tree trunk. Ballooned letters across the top read, 'When I grow up…' A quick thumbing through the black and white drawings showed professions of varying degrees – doctors and firemen, teachers and superheroes; movie stars with enormous sunglasses and gold stars in their eyes.

Straightening the stray crayons that had rolled away in Marshall's hasty search of the table, he clambered gently onto the mattress, hoping to catch a few winks before another busy day tomorrow. But, given what Seth had impressed upon him before he'd decided to turn in, it was almost a guarantee that sleep was going to be hard to come by.

And when the man reached to flick off the lamp, he encountered another source of possible slumbering discomfort. Something inside his pillowcase seemed to crackle, like he had accidentally rolled onto the price tag. Punching the pillow lightly, he was at first left to conclude there was nothing there – until he readjusted his bedding and saw a corner of paper peeking out from beneath the head padding.

Pulling slowly with a stealthy glance to the steadily breathing Mary, he laid eyes upon a sight that made his heart melt. It was like he was that child on Christmas morning once again, uncontained delight spilling out all over the rug in his unprecedented good fortune.

There upon the page in his fingers was unmistakably a police officer, the edges frayed from being ripped from its home. The man in the drawing stood with his hands on his hips and a jaunty mile-wide smile on his face. Mary had chosen navy blue for his uniform, and black for his hat. She'd shaded the badge on his chest a shiny gold, pressing hard to fill it in completely.

But it was the words scrawled across the top in his partner's slipshod, unkempt handwriting that caused the lump to form in his throat. Maybe his father was right. Perhaps Marshall was holding out on Mary; convincing himself that commitment was something she'd refuse whether he brought it up or not. He ought to have more faith. After all, Mary had transformed in so many ways since what had happened the summer before.

What Mary of old would write something as sincere as what was staring back at him in this very moment? They were words that said his childhood fears of not measuring up to Seth were futile; she might adore the older gentlemen, but she went out of her way to show him with her own unique spin that Marshall had turned out every bit as good – if not monumentally better.

"_You're my __favorite__ Man(n)."_

XXX

**A/N: Too much schmaltz at the end? I couldn't help myself!**


	38. Chapter 38

**A/N: I'm glad so many of you enjoyed seeing Seth! That makes me happy.**

XXX

Mary was hardly one to embrace a flurry of visitors, but it seemed this was going to be an ongoing episode in her current lifestyle. When she couldn't get out of the house and avoid those she did not wish to lay eyes on, they could bombard her in her own home. They might as well just whip out the rope and duct tape and have done with it.

But, it was lucky that Seth had been a buffer on Saturday, because once Sunday rolled around, Mary wasn't feeling quite as standoffish toward individuals who showed up at her door. It also helped that her initial anxiety from being in the hospital was finally starting to wear off. Although cautious, almost three days with nothing but routine backaches and mild stomach cramps convinced Mary she might be out of the woods for a bit. Following Thursday, she'd been certain that she wouldn't even make it through twenty-four hours on Friday before landing herself back in the emergency room.

And, the opportunity presented itself for her to tell her sorry tale once again on Sunday before Marshall began another bustling work week. Mark came to see her in her permanent residence that was the bedroom, because he'd promised and his flight back to New Jersey was due to leave on Monday morning.

To his credit, Mark was not a coddler. True, he had tried to step up when Mary had been having convulsions at their lunch meeting, but he wasn't near the head-patter that Marshall was. On this side of the calamity, he was the same jokester he'd always been, something his ex-wife appreciated. It was nice to be able to make light of her pickle, no matter how worked up she'd really been about it.

"You know, I could've looked like a real braniac if I'd had the bright idea to take you to the hospital when you were twisting and writhing on Wednesday," the man proclaimed from where he sat on the end of the mattress. Mary was cross-legged for a change, shading in another picture so she could fulfill her need to multi-task. "Marshall would've kissed my feet if I'd had the decency to do that."

"Mmm, too bad you don't," Mary quipped.

"And think of all the dough I could've won if I'd bet somebody you'd need a doctor's watchful eye," he shook his head. "I'd be rich!"

"You were too worried about getting the hell out to waste your time on me," Mary accused, recalling how skittish Mark had been when she'd started having contractions. "Mark my words. You'll be the bumbling husband who forgets the car keys when your new bride is in this state."

"Eh…" he shrugged nonchalantly. "Rebecca and I haven't even talked about kids. But, I suppose that's a conversation we should be having, huh?" his brown eyes suddenly turned round and worrisome.

"Don't sweat it," she brushed him aside. "Raph and I didn't talk about children until two days before we broke up." The ill-omened outcome of this dawned on Mary as soon as she opened her mouth, and she quickly tried to backtrack. "So, that's a bad idea; don't listen to me. You talk to old Becca and see what she thinks about spawning another one."

But, it seemed Mark had paid her advice no mind; his eyebrows slanted inward, "Who's Ralph?"

Mary didn't follow, "What?"

"Ralph – who is he? And what do you mean you didn't talk about children with him?"

A little slow on the uptake, the woman did finally clue in, "Oh – not Ralph, Raph. Short for Raphael." Now that she'd explained, she didn't have much desire to go into detail and fixed her gaze firmly on the image of the peacock she was coloring, "He was just…a guy I was engaged to a few years ago. We dated for quite awhile, but we were only engaged for a couple months before we broke it off."

Mark's head was tilted to one side as he gained this unexpected information, "Why didn't you ever tell me about him? I had no idea you'd been engaged to some other guy."

"When would I have told you?" Mary wanted to know. "Up until you showed your face here 'cause Brandi dragged your by your coattails last March, we hadn't seen each other since we were kids."

He immediately abandoned the subject of Raph, "And why is that, do you suppose?" leaning his chin in his hand. "Surely you missed my wit and charm all those years we were apart."

While she was aware he was playing coy, she did not especially see herself teeing up an honest answer. Unfortunately, she knew exactly why she'd avoided Mark for years on end, and it wouldn't make him feel good. He made her thrash all over deep in her gut, because he reminded her that she'd once been an irresponsible teenager flying by the seat of her pants, doing something as reprehensible as getting married prior to graduating high school to some older man. A man both her mother _and_ father hadn't been able to stand, for whatever petty reasons.

None of this was Mark's fault, of course, but he'd been an innocent catalyst in the whole messy affair. Mary's preference had been to put it all behind her.

But, she didn't say any of this to the man in front of her, "Sometimes you burn your bridges, you know? Try to forget who you were when you were young and stupid. Surely you remember what I was like back then…"

"Yeah, you were smoking hot," Mark gave a masculine chuckle, which caused Mary to raise her eyes and put the fear of God in him.

"Say that again and I will get Marshall to bust your ass straight to the curb," though she absolutely detested that she had to put the chore on her partner because she couldn't do it herself. "And, my appearance is really not what I was getting at. You recall how I was…you know…emotionally?"

That word in and of itself was revolting. 'Emotionally?' Yuck. The unvarnished truth really would've been much better. She'd been reeling in a puddle of her own desolation at seventeen, completely exhausted from trying to keep Brandi from having sex under middle school bleachers and hiding Jinx under blankets when her sister's cigarette-smoking boyfriends came to call. Mark had been a sympathetic ear, however goofy and hard-up for a 'good time.'

But, to Mary's relief, the man in question seemed to be having a warp speed epiphany about that time in their lives. But, he was proving his reputation for not doting on her with the rather blunt reminiscence that came out his mouth.

"Oh yeah…" he wagged a finger with each letter that escaped. "Your mom was kind of a wild thing back then. I remember she bought you that bottle of vodka for your sweet sixteen. I thought she was really cool – my mom never would've done that."

"Here's a helpful hint, Mark," Mary passed on snidely. "Purchasing vodka for your teenagers is not as cool as you're making it sound. And illegal, not that-that would matter to you," he just smirked at the josh. "Just some pointers for when you're trying to get in Rebecca's kid's good graces."

"Robbie."

"Whatever."

"Anyway, now that I stop to think about it, you actually had a crap load of stuff going on when you were trying to graduate," so he'd finally noticed. "Your dad had flown the coop by then already, right?"

It was a symbol of the fact that Mark had not been around for any extended period of time in Mary's existence that he would state this truth so heedlessly. Clearly, he was not aware of just how torn up the woman still was when forced to think about it.

"Yes," Mary busied herself in the crayon box, trying to find an orange to make her peacock's feathers a rainbow. "He'd been gone ten years at that point."

"I actually meant to ask you when I was here before," there was no way to tell which visit he was referring to. "Did he ever come back? Have you seen him since he walked out on you and Jinx and Brandi?"

The people closest to Mary already knew this answer; it wasn't one she often had to give. She reminded herself Mark wasn't trying to make her uncomfortable, that he was just proposing a simple inquiry. Still though, it was a jarring and hard fact of life that she was being swayed to admit out loud.

"No…" orange really was an ugly color; she would make that her focal point. "Not since I was seven. He's busy holding up banks and gambling all the money away. Or he could be dead. Hell if I know."

Why had she said _that_? Until this moment, she hadn't known she'd even been considering that James had passed away somewhere along the road, but it was certainly possible. Her subconscious must've have tucked it away, only to be pulled out in this fast-becoming belligerent conversation.

"How come you've never tried to look for him?" Mark was being awfully dense not to pick up on the shift from politely humorous to edgy in no time flat. "Couldn't you do that with your job and everything?"

"Because I don't want to," Mary spit out a little more ruthlessly than she meant to. "And I don't want to talk about this anymore."

Though she tried to tone down the hardnosed demands, it was apparent that the sharpness of her command had thrown Mark off guard. When she cared enough to glance up at him, he was moving his mouth around in thought, like he felt guilty for stepping over a line he hadn't even known he'd crossed. But, once again, Mary was glad he wasn't falling down and kissing her feet to apologize. Sometimes, it was nice to simply realize a mistake and move on.

And that was exactly what Mark did, "Okay. We can talk about something else. That is, unless you're ready for me to high-tail it outta here?"

Mary scoffed, "Come on, that's not what I meant. You've been here five minutes."

"Sometimes five minutes is all you need," his eyebrows took on a life of their own when they wiggled like they were; they reminded Mary of caterpillars.

"_To the curb_," she growled warningly, but also her way of showing he was forgiven. "I'm telling you. If I gave the order, Marshall wouldn't stick around to make sure you don't get run over by a semi."

But, Mark just laughed; so little ruffled his feathers. He was as carefree and easygoing as they came. How could his future stepson not take to him like a duck to water? A pitch of mourning suddenly took over Mary as she remembered Jamie, and the fact that Mark hadn't known of his existence until he was already gone. Though grateful every single day she was sleeping beside Marshall and carrying his children, she couldn't deny she'd been wrong about Mark on that front. He would've been a great father.

"All right, then I'll lay off on the innuendos," he shifted, tucking his legs underneath him, casting an amused grin Mary's direction when he caught sight of her artist fetish. "Let's see. What else do we need to catch up on before I hit the road?" There was a lapse where he pretended to think, and then, "Oh, I know…"

"God, what?"

"Who was that guy who answered the door? The older one – not that I think you have a barrage of men just trotting in and out all the time, but I am curious."

Well, he was wrong about the lack of chaps of all ages treating Mary's home like a bus station, but there was no need to bring that up. Regrettably, it also brought them back in a round-a-bout way to the very subject Mary had nixed, but they could dart amongst it if they had to.

"That's Marshall's dad – Seth. He flew in last night so he can be here when the kids arrive. Though Christ only knows when that'll be."

Mark nodded his recognition, "That's nice of him. Is Marshall's mom here in town too?"

"No, she stayed back in Montana. I don't know if she'll come out or not – or Marshall's brothers for that matter."

Now they'd slipped into easy banter, "I didn't know he had brothers."

"Yeah. Travis and Carson – I've never met them."

"That'll be a fun get together."

Mark hadn't even said what he'd predicted with an air of sarcasm, but still Mary thought it could be forecasted with suspicion. Though unwilling to admit it to Marshall, she was very jumpy about handshakes with his family. She hadn't exactly hit it off with Laura, although there was a painless cordialness there. Still, she did not get the impression that Travis and Carson were much like Marshall, whom she knew how to handle. If Seth had given his two oldest sons the green light to go into law enforcement, that must mean they were rougher around the edges, especially since he'd tried to keep Marshall from the profession by claiming he was too sensitive.

"I guess…" she was noncommittal; this was better than discussing James, but not by much. "They don't need to see me when I'm all hormonal after having the twins."

Mark was kind enough not to mention that Mary acted hormonal whether she was pregnant or not, and instead took a different tack while she went in search of a yellow pastel to continue her masterpiece.

"Yeah, but they'll like you anyway…"

This time, Mary reacted without thinking, preceded by a sneer, "No, they won't."

A ringing silence followed this pronouncement while Mary kept right on shading her colorful bird, wondering in the back of her mind why Mark cared whether these strangers were partial to her or not. The chances of him coming into contact with the Manns were next-to-nothing.

And still, he sounded sad at her lack of self-respect, "Mare…"

A cold, fake laugh erupted from somewhere guttural, "What?" she couldn't imagine the detached quality was coming off, where she wished to perpetuate the image that she could care less what Montana horse-riders and golfers thought of her.

"Well…" her ex chose his words delicately. "I mean, why would you say that? Mare, I know you like everyone to believe you're strong and sturdy or whatever – and you are. But, that doesn't mean you're not nice or something."

"Nice?" she snorted, truly unable to have envisaged traipsing into this minefield. "You take a public poll, and you see how many people describe me as 'nice.' And believe me, I am more in touch with the public than you might think. You'd get a real accurate reading."

At this, Mark sighed, "Maybe 'nice' was the wrong word to use, but you're a lot of other things. You're smart and you're funny and brave. And you always do the right thing, even when it's hard."

Mary couldn't believe she was hearing this, being expected to take all of these sycophantic comments. Here she'd convinced herself that Mark wasn't one to wear his heart on his sleeve the way that Marshall would, and he'd gone and proved her wrong.

"_You_ think all that about me?"

Being unmoved was a defense mechanism, but the pure sincerity that dropped into the room between her and Mark definitely stopped her in her tracks.

"Why do you think I married you in the first place?"

The question, said so earnestly and with such spirit behind it, struck something rather hurriedly in Mary. It was as though she'd been hit over the head with a two-by-four; there was a reason she was paranoid about the status of her and Marshall's relationship. Her subconscious really was on overdrive.

Marshall was not the first man she'd been in love with that she suspected was attached to her out of pity. This realization had her closing the coloring book, denying the peacock's colors when they shifted from warm to cool in their rainbow.

"You mean you didn't marry me because you felt sorry for me?"

Mary had perplexed Mark for the second time in two minutes. He was so taken aback his eyelashes actually fluttered, as though she'd thrown something in his face. And with this development, she spotted once again what a youthful shade of chocolate his eyes were.

"What?" the man was almost sputtering. "Where would you get an idea like that?"

A lot of Mary's ideas were half-assed, it would seem; so much so that she told herself over and over there was no reason to confide in Mark where this announcement had come from. But, an unknown force was clawing at her ribs – and it wasn't her son this time. It was her conscience, or her well-worn psyche, or her own damn timidity telling her she was tired of trying to hash this out with Brandi. She needed someone impartial – someone who'd been there – before this inimitable craving ate her alive.

And without warning, she ejected it all, "Because back then I was sick from missing my father. I know you remember what a weepy mess I was; the way we'd sit in the back of your truck drinking beer and I'd just bawl my eyes out, telling you everything would be different if my dad would just come home…"

Just like Tripp and Ben.

But, Mark was utterly nonplussed, "But, that doesn't mean…"

The blonde babbled right over him, "I was all alone with no father and a drunken mother and a reckless sister. Whether you say so or not, I know you felt bad for me." And before he could ask, she figured she might as well go all the way, "And I think it's happening again with Marshall. We've known each other forever, but we didn't hook up until I miscarried. I know you weren't here for that, but I was a wreck – nothing like myself. You wouldn't even have known it was me."

"Well, I doubt that, but…"

"And Marshall knows what a disaster my family can be. Jinx and Brandi on top of Jamie meant he was drowning right along with me. He's too good a person to just turn his back on me, even if things are better now," she spared only a second to swallow, knowing Mark was going to try and interrupt again. "He doesn't want to be my husband because he doesn't really love me. He thinks he does, but it's just this disgusting clemency underneath. He's too afraid of how I'll react if he decides he's had it."

Mark couldn't contain himself, "Mary, that's ridiculous."

"It is not!" she exploded, knowing the man they were swapping secrets about would be angry if he saw her getting all bent out of shape. "You did the same thing! There's no difference. With us, I was the poor girl without a father. With Marshall, I was the poor girl without a baby."

Mark took a moment before launching into all sorts of excuses about why Mary's theory was completely off-the-wall, but she held a certain amount of fulfillment in finally getting some of this out into the open. Granted, Mark might not have been her first choice for relationship guidance, but he was better than Brandi, who was typically only concerned with whether or not there would be a wedding in the end.

But, when Mark eventually gave his opinion, it was one Mary could've expected and didn't entirely appreciate because she knew he was right.

"Mare, you should talk to him about this," he insisted firmly. "I don't think he's with you because he feels sorry for you, but you won't know unless you ask him. Like you said, Marshall is a decent guy; he'd feel terrible if he thought you were going _this_ crazy over this…"

"But, I want him to _stop_ feeling terrible for me!" Mary couldn't be entirely sure this was true, but she decided not to debate the point. "We can't start a life built on constant commiseration. I won't do it – it's humiliating."

This didn't fly with Mark, "From what I can tell, Marshall's been in love with you since way before you lost Jamie – I could see it the first time I met him when he was on a date with another woman!"

"Well then, if he loves me _so_ much then why doesn't he ever say so?"

Mark shut up after hearing this, but Mary didn't like the way she'd come off so juvenile, if not totally infantile. Challenging Mark wasn't going to help anybody, especially not when he was working to get to the bottom of her very prominent problem. Still though, she did not enjoy the lingering confusion in his gaze, like he was hoping Mary had misunderstood this generally external sign of affection.

"Really? He doesn't say he loves you?"

Mary faked being glad she'd shocked him, but in reality her panic level was rising in tenths. Mark obviously spotted issue with this, like it didn't match up.

"No. He doesn't," she shot back anyway.

"But…he _does_ love you. He just doesn't tell you."

"Why would that be?" she felt like grabbing Mark in both hands and shaking the answer out of him, as if he had any clue why Marshall was so mum on this subject. "Why? Marshall's never been shy about telling people how he feels! Hell, for the first few months I was pregnant, I was barely showing and he sang lullabies to my belly until I told him to cut it out because we don't live in an opera house!"

Mark suppressed a grin at this story and got on with it, "Do _you_ ever tell _him_ how _you_ feel?"

A trickle of blame swept Mary's frame, but she tried valiantly to cover, "I…no. But…"

"Maybe you should. Maybe you're worrying over nothing. It could be that the two of you are all upset about the exact same thing, and a few simple words would fix it."

But, love was not 'a few simple words,' Mary thought. Didn't Mark understand the consequences that came with professing your adoration for someone who didn't reciprocate? Mary might have changed for the better since becoming Marshall's unofficial mate, but she still had her dignity, and she refused point-blank to be with a man who was sticking around because it was comfortable and nothing more – with a side order of pity to top it off.

Getting lost in thought enabled Mark to drive onward with his point, "Mare, you've got to know better than this. I know that marriage is a scary thing, and you're not a stranger to being left in the dark…" he meant James. "But really, if you could see Marshall through someone's eyes besides your own, you would never question how insane he is about you."

Her cynical nature abated quite speedily once she decided she wanted to be done with this, not able to fathom how she'd gotten wrapped up on it with Mark in the first place.

"Mark…" a sorrowful sigh. "It's taking care of me that he loves. And unless there's some sort of tragedy going on, I can't promise him that for the next lifetime."

No amount of pretext would have Mark buying what Mary was selling but he could, at the very least, put his own spin on the situation. He had known for a long time that Mary was a woman who needed to face her fiends alone. If his voice was a tool in helping her get there, he would do whatever he could to lead her safely into the den.

"You're having his _children_…"

The sweet, friendly hand on her knee was an aid in bringing her back to earth.

"I'm no expert, crabby, but I'd say that provides him with at least eighteen years of tending to come. And that's not a promise you make unless you are prepared to outlast until the bitter…_loving_ end."

XXX

**A/N: So, that's the last of Mark – Marshall will be back in the next chapter! Thank-you for reviewing!**


	39. Chapter 39

**A/N: Thank-you for hanging in there! I know this section of the story is a little bit slow, but hopefully there's something in this chapter that was at least a little bit anticipated. ;)**

XXX

It seemed it was obvious to everyone except Mary that Marshall would walk down the aisle with her in a heartbeat if only she'd confront him. But, she was still supposed to be the woman, no matter how feminine her partner behaved on a daily basis. Wasn't it his job to take the plunge and get down on one knee? Mary wasn't the most traditional person, but given her usual aversion to commitment, she had always figured this would be Marshall's task to tackle if it was what he wanted. After all, wasn't she throwing herself headfirst into enough things these days? She was having twins for Christ's sake. It could be implied that she had maxed out on taking leaps.

If nothing else, Mary had far too much time on her hands to come up with dozens of plausible scenarios for why Marshall was being so tight-lipped about his feelings, but she always came to the same conclusion. He was a wonderful, kindhearted man who probably did love her in his own way, but in the end it was the opportunity to finally mollycoddle her that he cherished. They'd spent eight long years with Mary keeping him at a distance, never allowing him to tunnel to the root of her innermost thoughts. Now that she was letting him in, he was eating it up – but one day, that would end, and he'd find out that he couldn't sustain his care on cosseting alone.

Still, Mary managed to put up a fairly good front once Marshall returned from yet another day strategizing with Stan. She didn't see how he couldn't be just completely dog-tired, ready to drop dead on the doorstep. He was working overtime by including the weekends now that Mary was no longer his fellow inspector. It was a Sunday night; he should be at home with her, and because of her inability to walk like a normal person, he had to have his nose to the grindstone twenty-four-seven.

But, if he was tired, you'd never know it. He bounced into the bedroom looking as cheerful and good-natured as ever, swooping down to kiss Mary's cheek. She was just finishing the hot dog Jinx had cooked her for dinner, having already made short work of the potato chips.

"Good evening, my lady…" Marshall crooned, not even bothering to sit down or remove his shoes. "How was your day?"

"You mean since you saw me at lunch?" muffled around bites of bun.

"Yes, because I was only here for twenty minutes. Did Mark make it by? I guess dad went back to the hotel?"

"Yeah, he left a little bit ago. Mark stayed for awhile," Mary certainly wasn't going to elaborate on what they'd talked about. "He said he hopes everything goes well with the kids."

"How very charitable of him," Marshall commended the other man. "It would be lovely if we could make the wedding in March. A little first vacation with the kids might be just what the doctor ordered."

"It would only be what the doctor ordered if Brandi weren't planning on going, and we both know she is."

"That's an extra set of hands, ready-made," he was as sunny as ever. "Brandi might not be our first choice for babysitters, but if we have to start hiring help down the road, I'd rather go with someone with which we are familiar."

"And I'd rather try my luck with strangers."

Marshall only shook his head, still towering over her in his work attire, and she began to wonder what the hold-up was. Especially given how consistently he was on the job these days, he was usually out of his jeans and into his pajamas before he got around to smooching his girl. Why was he just standing there, hands on his hips and eyes darting back and forth to the open doorway?

"Why don't you take a load off?" Mary presented after a silence. "Jinx left some extra hot dogs in the fridge; she said the buns are on the counter. You can't have had dinner yet."

"No, I haven't…" still looking deceitful, but joyous.

"Sorry I didn't wait, but Frick and Frack were hankering for some food."

"Oh, there was no need to delay because of me…" Marshall waved a dismissive hand. "Especially since…" his hands clasped together as though in prayer, and he bit on his lip before casting yet another glance toward the hallway. "There's something I want to show you before I settle down to eat."

Mary was bemused, "What?" a shrug.

But still, she could not pretend to ignore the sky-blue rays of light dancing in his eyes. He was displaying that 'little boy in a candy store' persona that she could never get enough of. One would've thought he'd already expended enough energy on surprises, but it seemed he could pull a rabbit out of a hat any day of the week. For a woman who was confined to the bed, Mary had definitely still had quite the roller coaster going on since Thursday.

"Marshall, what?" she goaded him again when he took too much time soaking up his own brilliance. "Just tell me."

Now prepared to spill, he gave a low-key yet still hushed and theatrical reveal, "The nursery is finished. Would you like to see it?"

A silly sort of fear suddenly gripped at Mary's stomach; it was an impulse, one she couldn't control. This whole nonsense with the nursery had been an ordeal since December, and though she'd requested many times for it to be over and done with no matter how fabulous or how garish it looked, she suddenly became extremely apprehensive about what she was about to find. She trusted Seth's instincts, and even her mother's and sister's decorating capabilities, but was worried about keeping disappointment off her face if she didn't like the design. Marshall would think he was incapable of doing anything right.

"I um…" her voice came out hoarse, which was quite a contrast from Marshall's beaming excitement. "How? I'm not supposed to be up and around…"

"I think I have a remedy for that ailment, partner," raising his long index finger in his classic professor-mode. "I shall return…"

Before Mary could argue, he was already gone and back in a matter of moments, rolling the desk chair from the office. Giving a mock bow at the incredulity on her face, he swept a hand over the black leather and wheels, bowing his head and claiming his servant.

"Your chariot awaits."

Mary did not know why she felt the need to ward him away, "Marshall, this is stupid. I'm sure it looks fine…" although she was not sure of that at all. "I can't be on my feet except to use the bathroom," pretending she was a stickler for the rules. "I can see it some other time."

But when? After the twins had already been born? She was likely to be a full-blown loony at that point, and who knew how soon after the fact she'd be coming home? No one could anticipate favorable reactions from a post-partum Mary with babies in the NICU arriving at her house to see a room with purple flowers or elephants on the walls.

"Now, I wouldn't think I would have to tell you this, but it is important to live a little once in awhile, inspector," Marshall imparted his influence. "Hop on board," patting the seat. "I will navigate to our destination. No worries."

"Are you a pilot now?" Mary asked to stall for time.

"Maybe I'll take that as a side job," Marshall was not about to be deterred. "At the very least, I could escort pregnant broads to their cars – say at the grocery store or something."

She decided to try and throw him for a loop, "Don't you ever get mad at anything I say?"

It only worked partially, "Well, I suppose…" yet he still did not seem bothered. "Usually when the intent is malicious, but this is not one of those times. So put the snark away and come see our baby haven, won't you?"

When Mary did not move, merely sat and stared at him, he slid the chair back and forth in front of her line of vision, inviting her to come and join the party. But still, Mary was reluctant. She wanted badly not to let him down by revealing, even accidentally, that their tastes in infant décor were not the same. She could be a great liar when it was important, but about something so trivial, she wondered if she would be able to keep disgust from showing.

"Come on…" Marshall altered to something more natural and dropped the act. "Let's get moving. I really want to see what you think. Don't you think you'll feel better once you know what's in there – for better or for worse?"

Mary supposed, in the grand scheme of things, this was probably true. Love it or hate it, there was little chance of turning back at this point. She would have to make her peace with whatever cutesy designs embroidered the crib liners and adorned the walls.

Slowly, careful not to jump the gun on standing, she made it upright and then back on her behind, settling as comfortably as possible into the cushioned boundaries of the office chair. It was something of a wonder she even fit at all; it was a tight squeeze with her too-wide ass and flabby arms taking up more than their usual share of the armrest. But, Marshall brushed all this to the rug, spun the seat around started rolling it out the door.

The whole ride, Mary couldn't help pondering just how preposterous she looked being veered on the hardwood like some invalid, her caretaker at the helm. She was grateful there was no one around to see them, and when they reached the closed door right beside the bathroom, she felt that same precipitate tilt of fright.

For whatever reason, she'd built this room up in her mind – envisioned it thousands of different ways, none of which had ever seemed to mold. How could the people in her life have come up with something to match the twins when even she could not? As she'd stipulated in the beginning, she'd wanted something that was 'them' and not knowing who they'd become made that task a hefty one. Was she destined to be disappointed – a victim of her own standard that no one, not even herself, could live up to?

It was just a room. A space. Four walls, floor, and ceiling. Mary tried to see it as that and only that. What did it _really_ matter if she detested the pastel shades of blue and pink she was sure to find? What was truly essential were the children going inside it. They wouldn't know any better. What justification would Mary have for wreaking havoc on something Jinx and Brandi had put so much work into? Nothing was to be gained.

Marshall must've allowed her several minutes to stare at the wooden barrier keeping them from entering before he said, "You ready?"

Feigning nonchalance with a swallow, "Yeah. Sure."

"All right…" his shadow passed over her face when he leaned over. "While I am sure you are completely over all the surprises…humor me," out of the corner of her eye, she could see him giving off a sheepish smile. "Close your eyes."

Oddly enough, Mary didn't have a problem with this. The darkness provided by her skin would give her a few more seconds to prepare. Without hesitation, she did as Marshall had asked, probably shocking him because she'd been so compliant. And amidst the black, she felt the chair begin to move once more, and heard the twisting of the doorknob. It was like being led blind down a tunnel on the railroad tracks just waiting for the horn to begin its blare.

Mary knew when they'd reached the margins because even through the gloom she could sense the filtering of light penetrating her thin covering of lashes and lids. But, it wasn't a very harsh glow, which didn't really make sense. The overhead light connected to the fan was brash and blinding when they had it on.

In no time at all, Mary felt the chair come to a stop while she tried to figure out whether she was still in the doorway or further into the room. Though he wasn't touching her, she could feel Marshall's hands resting just inches from her shoulders where he'd put them to push her wagon. His presence behind her was a comfort, somehow.

"Okay. Open up."

This was it. Now or never.

Who cared if she saw giraffes or sailboats? Who _really_ cared if the cribs were overloaded with plush pigs? Not her. Not Mary. She didn't care. Not at all.

But, she did. She really-really did.

Steeling herself to be as good a sport as Marshall always was, Mary followed suit of his order and made her eyes ease themselves apart to embrace the luminosity and face the images of her future.

Green. It was green. A sort of springy, almost mint green – all over, except for patches of white here and there.

Mary immediately panicked, recalling the great many times she had eighty-sixed the notion of this color because it was so clichéd for something unisex. But, talking herself off the ledge, she realized she was taking in the rest of the room in pieces; it didn't flood her all at once. By blinking and zeroing in, she saw more than just green.

And when she truly gazed, not with her eyes but with her heart, she was amazed.

There was a border running around the top of the walls – white printed with something else that same shade of soft emerald, but she couldn't see what it was from where she was sitting, which happened to be in the very center of the room. The pattern looked like people, but who? The same humanistic shape was adorned just once on the quad of walls – small, undemonstrative, with calligraphic handwriting beneath the form. Letters? How could someone have written so neatly on the fresh paint?

The furniture was arranged very simplistically; Mary had been afraid that everything crammed together would be claustrophobic, but it wasn't at all. She felt very free and liberated being surrounded by these furnishings – also white.

The wall beside the door, the one she had her back to, housed a changing table, already stockpiled with diapers and burping cloths on the lower shelf. The wall to her left bore the cribs, end-to-end and side-by-side, taking up every bare inch of hedge there was. To her right was the closet, joined by only one dresser, a warm shine provided by a lamp on its surface. But, Mary didn't have time to think about where the second bureau Peter had offered had gone, because she was only just noticing that her formerly brown doors were now pearly eggshell, setting off all that green beautifully.

But it was the wall smack in front of her that caused the lump to form in her throat. Unable to boast furniture because of the high-set window, the entire expanse was filled with two straight lines of photos – picture after picture, snapshots and Polaroids and grayscale images abound. As it was the only wall she could see properly, Mary fought choking up as she realized the top row showed only pictures of herself, from infancy to young adulthood. The bottom chain, of course, illustrated Marshall's lifetime.

Mary and Brandi on her sister's first day of kindergarten - surly big sister grudgingly cuffing her shoulder to mug for the camera. Jinx braiding Mary's hair at the counter; the big wheel she'd hoarded at Christmas, a rare vacation to the beach, even the tender shot of a little girl and her daddy squeezed together at the kitchen table. Marshall's mirrored her own, featuring his brothers along with his own happy-go-lucky holidays, even prouder moments such as college graduation and displaying his newly-earned Marshal badge.

The shots near the ends of the lines were almost identical – one picture after another of Mary and Marshall together, growing older and closer with each passing reflection, until the stripes ran themselves out. Wall-to-wall memories.

But, these photos didn't seem to be framed the way that Mary was used to; she could've sworn they'd been slipped inside bordered sheets, seemingly standing out – bold and prominent on the walls all by themselves, no casing to clutter the effect. The only other addition this area birthed was a rocking chair, angled just-so in the corner beside the cribs. Two tiny end tables bookended the seat, and these showed actual frames, though from here Mary could not make out what was inside them.

Undoubtedly, she had gone completely speechless, and the fun was only beginning. She was unable to discern so many of the contours of the wallpaper weaving its trimmings around the ceiling, not to mention those decals on the walls. Marshall was the one who brought her back.

"Why don't you get up and take a look?"

His voice meant reality set in. This sanctuary, such as it was, all-but vanished as she remembered the lumbering mass she embodied.

"I…I can't…" she twisted her neck around to face the sweetly smiling Marshall.

He laid a hand on her shoulder, "You have been a model patient. I'm standing right here. Go slow and you'll be just fine. You can't see from here."

Eventually, Mary nodded and took his hand without really thinking about it, granting wordless permission for him to help her up. It was a little daunting at first, traveling to someplace that was not the bathroom, but curiosity was tearing her apart from the inside out. Once erect, she wandered to the left, examining the wall with the cribs.

It took so few steps to see the theme running like a jade ribbon throughout this refuge. Marching along the border flanking the ceiling were soldiers. The tiniest of toy army men in that gorgeous green, they strode in perfect succession, one after another, an unending, unanimous string of warriors, exactly like the ones on the sleepers Mary had chosen two weeks before.

Hands clapped over her mouth now, she saw that the single stickers upon each wall were the exact same thing. Like stitching on a skirt, they perfectly matched the paint; a plain silhouette and outline. The one here above the crib was positioned directly at the halfway point between beds. Below him, in white, were the words:

_Soldiers Dream. _

Ravenous now, Mary abandoned further scrutinizing of this corner and whipped around to the label above the changing table next to the door. There was the imprint of the toy, and then…

_Soldiers Survive. _

And with Marshall simply reveling in her quiet disarray, she had to remind herself not to bolt, for now she stood in front of the closet. To its left was the sole surviving dresser. A third little man headed the drawers, and beneath him…

_Soldiers Train._

And finally, beneath the high window was the final fighter, captioning the two columns of photographs.

_Soldiers Grow._

Mary could not take it in. She could not take in the sheer, unbridled genius that was this room. She needed about six sets of eyes and four pairs of hands. The pictures were inside bordered sleeves mounted to the wall; you could slip them in and out with the greatest of ease should they ever wish to change them.

There was a teddy bear in the rocking chair wearing army digs. Two matching teddies slept in the cribs, one for each. One was dressed as a fireman, the other as a police officer. Their fur was tumbleweed brown and soft when Mary ran her finger over it. Mobiles dangled in each cradle, swinging nothing in particular from their branches; just tiny green balls to compliment everything else. Along with the mint sheets inside the cribs, Mary recognized the hand-knitted blankets Delia had given them at the shower – red and blue, yellow and orange for a splash of color.

The closet was busting at the seams. Jinx and Brandi had filled it to the brim with what must be all the clothes in Albuquerque – dresses and shorts and overalls and T-shirts and sleepers abound. In here were still more diapers, along with folded blankets upon the floor – bottles on the top shelf.

Just when Mary thought she must've spotted it all, she moved back to the crook with the rocking chair, not having stopped to see what was sitting atop those two miniscule end tables, which were not big enough to hold anything. They were wooden with only a tiny circular top, but Mary knew the minute she digested what she was looking at, she wasn't going to be able to keep from crying any longer.

The table to the left propped a four-by-six frame, and inside was the latest sonogram print of the twins – nothing but white splotches to the rest of the world, but the first photos of precious, treasured babies to Mary.

And on the table to the right, flawlessly pristine, unharmed and secured in a matching frame, was her picture of Jamie.

It was when she almost started blubbering that Marshall finally decided to step in. She wanted to tell him just how grateful she was that he had not interrupted with pointless jargon about every waking detail of the nursery, but had simply let her look – had let it wrap her up and captivate her the way this haven for her children was meant to do.

His arms wove around her waist, stopping to interlock his own fingers at the peak of her belly, and his chin fell onto her shoulder to whisper in her ear.

"What do you think?"

Mary really had to try not to become a complete soppy mess, but it was going to require working fast. Spinning around, she flung her arms around his neck and kissed him square on the mouth so he would not have time to see the tears glistening in her eyes.

What felt like several minutes later, she stepped back to find him blushing on the other side, "I would take it that it has met with your approval."

"I love it…" Mary blurted out, still sounding croaky. "It's perfect."

Marshall cocked one eyebrow, "_Perfect?!_ Seriously?" who could blame him for being astonished? "I will have to document that reaction! Jinx and Brandi really outdid themselves, huh?"

"It was you," Mary insisted, leaving her mother and sister in the dust, breathing hard into his face with her arms still wound around his neck. "I know it was you. You did this. Only you could pull off something this spectacular…"

Marshall was having a hard time hiding his shock at her uncensored accolades, "It really wasn't," he shook his head. "Honestly; I had so little to do with it. It was a joint effort between your family and mine. Jinx saw that you picked out those onesies with the army men on them…"

"But, she hated those! Gave me such a hard time about putting the girl in boy clothes!"

"Nonetheless…" Marshall went on. "She must've recognized that this was not for _her_, it was for you, and it was the only thing in the store you liked." Furrowing his brow slightly, "Why is that, by the way? Where did the affinity come from?"

Now that Mary had started talking, she couldn't stop, feeling the puzzle slide together, "From your dad. When he talks to me, he always calls the kids, 'little soldiers.'"

"Well, that would make sense," Marshall proclaimed. "Because once Jinx and Brandi started bouncing ideas around, dad heard about you and those sleepers and pulled out all the stops. You should've heard them brainstorming; it was fantastic…"

"But…but…" she was totally swamped, incapable of reconciling that this had turned out so well. "What about these words on the wall – and those sticker things of the army men? Who did those?"

Marshall did not give her a hard time about being behind the times on creative doodads you could buy.

"Nobody," he declared truthfully. "It's really easy; they're like heavy-duty decals. You can have them made and slap them on the wall. They come off just like that," snapping his fingers. "So, if we ever want to change the design, we won't rip the paint off."

"I don't want to change it!"

Marshall grinned, "I did not mean right now." Caressing her back from their halfway embrace, "I am so pleased you like it. I may have promoted a believable façade, but I was a little worried you'd think the solider thing was strange. You and I aren't soldiers, after all, but I was hoping you'd think of it as soldiers in the metaphorical sense."

Mary fluttered her eyelashes, wondering vaguely how she was holding off jumping him right now.

"What is the definition of 'soldier?'" she knew he would know. "Not the person – the verb."

And he obliged, "I believe it is something along the lines of, 'to persevere in your endeavors – complexities and challenges notwithstanding.'"

Mary thought back to all the obstacles she had faced in a long forty years of life that didn't feel as though it had even begun yet.

Pulling a sweaty Jinx from bed sheets. Changing the diapers of a bawling Brandi and having her trail after her day in and out because she knew it would keep her from getting hurt. The neighbors gawking as they'd been evicted from their dump of a duplex. Meeting Mark and crying her woes to a sympathetic ear. Being alone, finding her niche, fretting every second about Jinx and Brandi by themselves without her to anchor them.

The move from New Jersey to New Mexico – meeting Marshall and hating him because she loved him. The chains above her head in Spanky's basement; having to watch Brandi handcuffed to a bolted table. That bullet going into Marshall's arm and feeling her heart stop when he'd passed out on the couch in that smoky barn. Waking up in the hospital after her own slug wound.

Losing Raph. Losing Jamie. Losing her father.

But, what did soldiers do?

Dream. Survive. Train. Grow.

Dust themselves off, move on, and try again. And there were not enough words inside Mary to describe how much she wanted to instill that in her children too.

"Sound about right?" Marshall prompted after his definition.

And Mary couldn't resist kissing him one more time, "Yes. That is _exactly_ what I meant."

XXX

**A/N: I admit I was not sure how this would go off – if the details are too extravagant or if they even make sense. I was hoping to capture Mary's awe along with the descriptions. I know that her and Marshall aren't actually soldiers, but like I said in the text, it's more the symbolism of the whole thing combined with Seth's comments. I hope this lived up to all the build-up before now!**


	40. Chapter 40

**A/N: Very glad several of you enjoyed the nursery theme!**

XXX

Marshall felt much too culpable getting up at the crack of dawn on Monday morning and leaving Mary to return to the office. Working so heavily was definitely wearing him down, but far worse was thinking of Mary boarded up all by herself with no one but a nosy mother and sister to keep her company. He'd been glad early in the bed rest escapades that she'd had so many visitors, no matter how much she complained. Between Jinx, Brandi, Tripp, Mark, and Seth she hadn't had endless amounts of time to dwell on everything he was sure she was obsessing about.

But now, it was back to the grind until he could get all his witnesses transferred to Delia as well as Mary's. Stan was doing everything he could to help him out, but it still meant he spent many grueling hours not in his girl's presence. She was a woman who enjoyed her solitude, but three more weeks of this was going to be punishing unless he worked around the clock now to prevent crises cropping up later.

Still, Marshall tried to think heartening thoughts about ditching Mary when he remembered how much she'd loved the nursery. Given his brilliance by bringing Seth to town and now showing her a room out of her wildest fantasies, he had to be looking pretty good. At the very least, she should be in a decent, less brusque sort of mood.

He decided to skive off his own lunch in hopes of spending some time with Mary during the hour she usually ate, only to arrive home and find her not in her bed. The most logical place to look for her would be the restroom, but it was obvious at once that she was not there because the lights were out and the door was open.

Though Marshall cautioned himself not to freak out, he couldn't help being baffled. As proven by Mary's skittish inquiries the night prior, she was very dedicated to lying down and doing everything the doctors said to holdup impending delivery. There were also very few places she could be, as he had not come across her when he'd walked through the living room.

Knowing somebody surely would have called him if there had been a trip to the hospital, he moseyed back the direction he had come and checked the remaining room in the house - the newly-minted and highly-acclaimed nursery.

And it was here that he saw her, in quite a poignant state no less. What had prompted her to venture forth and return to this place, Marshall couldn't know. But, she had – probably unintentionally – drifted off sitting in the rocker, her right hand on the side of her belly. Beatrix was compressed up between her stomach and her neck, crashed out in a little grey ball.

This, Marshall recognized as only one thing. It seemed Jinx's theory was finally being put to the test.

Nesting.

He didn't wish to wake her, but time was of the essence and he didn't want her to come around and think he hadn't returned as he'd sworn. Tiptoeing over and kneeling onto the floor, Marshall jostled her elbow lightly until he heard the grunt that meant perception was coming back. Her green eyes reflected his in due time, dusted and somewhat empty in their sockets; there was a fuzzy and hazed look that wasn't entirely caused by sleep.

"Oh…" Mary droned, looking down and materializing surprise at seeing Beatrix there. "What…what's going on?" head falling limply onto her shoulder, not making a vigorous effort to engage Marshall.

"I told you I'd be here," the man reminded her, squeezing her knee in attempts to stimulate her so he could lead her back to the bed. "Can I make you something to eat before I head back?"

Beneath her cloud, Mary yearned to tell him she was tired of him leaving all the time. Obligations were obligations; she was an adult and she understood. But, it was very unusual to spend so many hours apart from him. Ten years of working side-by-side and then living as such meant she definitely felt his absence. All the luster in her world seemed to be fading little by little with him out of the picture so often; it was grey and bleak otherwise.

And the whole reason he'd showed up in an infrequent break was going to be moot anyway.

"Mmm…" Mary shook her head, closing her eyes once more and striving for a few more winks. "I don't want to eat."

Marshall did not let her get away with this, "Why not? Do you feel okay? Why are you in here?"

This was too many questions at once and Mary couldn't process them all. For whatever reason, her brain stuck to the second one.

"My stomach's upset," giving Beatrix a lulling pat. "I don't have any appetite."

On instinct, Marshall made an offer he knew was entirely impractical, but the words were out of his mouth before he could put a damper on them.

"Do you want me to stay the afternoon?" Mary ascertained that he was feeling her forehead. "I can call Stan; rearrange…"

How she would love that. But she knew she couldn't let him.

"You have so much to do…"

"It isn't more important than you," he informed her gallantly; beneath her closed lids, Mary could tell his hands were still on her face. "When you say 'upset' what do you mean?" such a pseudo-doctor.

"Hmm…" another shrug from the woman, who was clearly only interested in staying asleep and not answering Marshall's firing questions. "You know…"

The taller of the two was vaguely amused by how chilled out she was; normally, if she wanted to doze, she'd just snap at him to get lost. This time, it was like she was pretending he wasn't even there. It was a rather strange hue on Mary, like she was lost in her own little world.

Marshall was suddenly struck by the revelation he'd had about his partner's ever-growing trepidation, and the fact that he couldn't fix or change it. There were parts of this journey she took alone, and was it plausible to think she was beginning that transition right now? Marshall seemed very outside her frame of reference, but despite knowing that she was caught in some alternate universe, he still pushed for details.

"Did you vomit?" using such a technical term made her smile softly.

And a nod.

"You did? How many times?"

She held up two fingers. Mary knew if she'd cared to look at his face, he'd have been needlessly worried. She wasn't. She didn't know why, as anything that had her stomach propelling into reverse could sometimes be cause for concern – particularly with the factor of over-exertion. But, there was no red flag in her brain – not yet, anyway.

"I really wish you'd let me feed you something," Marshall chattered through the darkness. "And take you back to the bedroom. You still haven't told me why you're in here."

Mary didn't want him to have to work himself into a tizzy when he had so little time to spare here at the house, so she consented to looking at him once more, her head lolling onto her shoulder, Beatrix still snoozing away.

For a moment, she saw herself through his eyes – the way she'd seen herself in the bathroom mirror that morning. She was beginning to feel like a person entirely separate from her former self. This pregnancy had renovated her entire existence in more ways than she'd ever thought possible. A certain softness had seeped into her in some subliminal way. She'd grown to nurse a young boy in Tripp; she'd learned to feel happiness for an old friend in Mark; she'd even found something of a father in Seth.

But, a nagging voice in the back of her mind told her she was starting to wear out this shell. These conflicting, ricocheting emotions had molded her into who she felt she needed to be to become a mother. The face in the mirror was haggard and decrepit; it was time for her shield to clatter to the ground.

When Mary looked at herself, she saw the way her skin sagged on its bones; saw her bloated cheeks and pallid complexion, green eyes dulled and bruised. Her hair was too long, matted with the ends growing split because she hadn't bothered to get a trim. But, the biggest feature was always her belly. How much more could that globe hold before it sunk in and washed itself of the magic within?

"I like it in here…" she eventually threw Marshall a bone, for he'd been staring for several minutes now. "I felt like rocking. I don't know why."

He could not keep his hands to himself, and ran one over the top of her far too extended hair, "You can stay if you want, but just promise me you'll be careful if I'm not here when you decide to go lie down."

"I promise…" Mary drawled obediently, scratching Beatrix behind her ears. "Can I ask you something?" she left aside not giving him a proper reason for having retreated to the nursery.

"Sure. Anything," he was just glad she was being more alert.

Still haunted by the image she'd looked in on that was her own features, Mary didn't think first; she acted. Thinking could come afterwards, though she knew how backward this method was.

"How on earth can you think I'm attractive when I look like this?"

Predictably, Marshall's brow puckered forlornly, "Like what?"

Mary was not interested in dragging this out, "Like some fat old bag lady. My skin is waxy and my hair is oily and I'm the size of the Starship Enterprise. Why do you keep coming home for this?"

Underneath, she knew this was ferreting for, 'I love you' but that wasn't entirely at the forefront of her mind right now. It was more curiosity than anything else; Mary usually tried to avoid her reflection, but it had snuck up on her today. Now it was hard to forget.

But, Marshall just grinned, as intrepid as ever, "Because there is more to you than looks, first of all. It is not your fault you haven't seen the sun in three days," he was excusing her pale membranes. "I come back because there is nowhere else I'd rather be than here with you and the twins. That will never change," he certainly sounded firm. "I know that you're not as vain as you're feigning right now…" maybe she was. "So I won't bore you with a lot of claptrap about how you _don't_ look as terrible as you'd like me to believe."

"Does that mean I _do_ look as awful as I thought?"

Marshall shook his head, "No. Contrary to your point of view, I think you are beautiful, but you are not a woman whose mind is altered easily. You have the proverbial glow – rotund or not." And then, "Where exactly is this coming from? You're in a strange sort of mood."

She couldn't really have expected Marshall to sit idly by and not notice her trance or her odd questions. He was a man of great intellect; if he wanted to know something badly enough, chances were he would figure it out.

"I'm fine…" Mary fibbed effortlessly, knowing she should shift and stretch out the kink in her neck. "Just doing too much thinking," or none at all. "And…I guess…"

Honesty couldn't be _all_ bad could it? Marshall was a staunch believer in the undistorted truth. Laying everything out on the table would be going much too far, but a little wouldn't harm either of them.

"I…I guess I just miss you. I've gotten used to having you around."

This particular candor brought out the strident azure tinge to his gorgeous, glittering eyes. Not for the first time, Mary was thumped with the wish that their son and daughter would have identical pairs in the same color.

"That's very sweet of you," unlike his 'significant other,' Marshall had no problem being forthright. "I really think I should stay here with you," insistent, he was. "Especially if you're feeling under-the-weather. I can let Stan know; he'll figure something out…"

Mary interjected before stopping to consider, "You know you can't. You said last night that you guys still need a few more days to iron everything out; I'll keep until then…"

"But, you're right," he was kneading her leg to sway her into agreement. "I've been gone entirely too much. I'm needed here…"

"I never should've said anything," Mary was now far more awake than she cared to be, and rather disgruntled that one simple comment could cause Marshall to stop the presses. So much for honesty. "I am not sitting around feeling sorry for myself, I'm just partial to being out there, doing something constructive instead of sitting on my ass all damn day…"

Marshall too seemed to regret having thrust her forward. He was always bleating on about how she needed to rest, and here he'd shaken her from her slumber to fuel his own selfish agenda, however minor it might be. To counteract his actions, he kneeled upward off the floor and stood above his partner, hoping to catch her if she stomped back to the bedroom in a huff.

"Can I take my turn at telling you something?" he blurted out, going all-out with his heart rather than his head at present.

"I guess…" but she still pursed her lips in antipathy.

"I miss you too," swearing allegiance. "The job is nowhere near the same without you. Stan even said it himself just the other day – that WITSEC isn't WITSEC without your gung-ho attitude and your delightful yet bitter scorn. You're a staple around there, partner."

Mary hadn't thought this would simmer her frustration to a more tolerable level, but it did. It was one thing to be the infatuated – it was quite another to be the one the infatuation was _for_. Something about knowing Marshall, Stan, and Delia felt a deficiency without her piece of the puzzle was heartening. It meant that, in the far distant future, she would be welcomed back with open arms.

"Marshall…" a slow exhale flowed from low in her belly, signifying that she didn't have the stamina to put up a fight for very long. "I'm gonna be normal again someday, right?"

He appeared to think for a second, pinpointing his words with clarity, "What part of who you are now isn't normal?"

The man, in all his splendor, was even taller than normal standing so high above her.

"I feel like I'm in limbo – that I can't move forward or back no matter how many steps I take. My life starts and stops with these kids, and it's making me into someone I'm not…"

"What person is that?"

Mary did not want to go through the individual she'd seen looking back at her through the mirror and so tried diverting off the beaten track, "I've been so freaked out over whether or not the twins will be okay, that I haven't given any thought to whether or not I'll be…"

She didn't even know she'd felt this way until she'd started speaking, but it seemed so many lonely hours of isolation wreaked havoc on an already congested brain.

"What if I'm not…" the weakness of this plea was sickening to Mary. "Suppose I'm not…you know…" but he didn't, and she was going to have to force herself to go the rest of the way. "Suppose I'm not a good mom."

It was her confidence she'd lost – the no-nonsense, take-charge demeanor for which she was so widely known. The Mary Shannon of old never would've thought herself incapable of being maternal; she would've assumed she'd learn the ropes as she had to climb them; a few topples here and there didn't hurt anybody.

But, this Mary – this Mary who daydreamed of marriage and bassinets and daddy on her doorstep – wasn't so sure of her abilities. Jamie had shaken her typical self-reliance and made her more susceptible to reservations than she'd ever thought she could be.

Marshall, unfortunately, seemed rather stumped by this confession. The corners of his eyes had scrunched inward as he studied his subject. Could it be that, even in his manic obsession to care for her, he still saw her as the robust woman she'd always perpetuated herself as being?

"I suppose it depends upon your definition of 'good…'" he always began logically, and no other way. "I know it sounds too clear-cut Mary, but in the beginning all you really need are the basics. If you plan on changing the kids, feeding them, staying up at all hours of the night to make sure they can go to sleep, then I'd say you're in business." Before she could open her mouth to retort, "If you ask me, you have it easy. Many people worry endlessly that they won't love their children, and I would say you do not have that problem," a wink. "You've got love covered and down pat."

Was what Mary felt actually 'love?' It felt more like manic obsession, at least when it came to the babies. Now Marshall – that was definitely love, if ever she'd known it. But, this thought sank her heart like a ship into a glacier. The twins were certainly not the only thing she was frenzied about, and no matter how she talked herself down from wanting to marry Marshall, it was becoming more and more impossible to deny that it was something she hunted after – a cat on its prey.

She didn't _want_ Marshall. She needed him. She needed to be his wife, his confidante, his anything and everything, however uncharacteristically clingy this was. It was high time she admitted it, if not to Marshall, than to herself.

All this contemplation must've turned her as blank as she'd been when her partner had meandered inside the nursery, because he dipped his chin to catch her eye.

"Is this what was bothering you?" he bounced out, still casting his shadow over her sedentary form. "Not to be repetitive, but you have seemed very distracted since I got here. I'm getting the impression there is something else on your mind…"

Mary opted to stand at this point, affixing her fingers around the armrests of the rocking chair, making her way clumsily upward. She distinctly saw Marshall cringe at this effort, and figured his own blood pressure must at this very moment be rising because she was standing and this was a crystal-clear violation of bed rest. He'd been lenient the night before, but not anymore.

"Come back to the bedroom," he addressed the statute for the third time. "We can talk there. I'll call Stan afterwards and postpone our afternoon plans…"

Mary ignored this, feeling Marshall's nails close like a vice around her forearm.

"I can't do this without you."

What if she told him? She could do that. What was the worst that could happen?

Marshall would say he wasn't ready for a stipulation so binding and maybe, in light of a wedding that was never going to come to pass, perhaps it was better he play a diminished role in her life as well as the life of the twins. He loved the kids and wanted what was best for them, but he felt nothing more than friendship for Mary, and doubted he ever would.

This extremely credible scenario nearly made her sick again. What little color there was left in her face drained in a snap and her hand was over her mouth before she could halt the gesture.

Marshall's fingers were now on her wrist, "Mary?"

Thankfully, the wave passed as quickly as it had come on, but she had no plans to go that route now. What was she thinking, being able to profess her undying devotion? Her stateliness was still far too essential to her well-being to consider defaming herself that way. It was a good thing she'd come to her senses.

But, the individual who was unintentionally driving her batty was more confused than ever.

"What is wrong with you?" he pleaded earnestly once he was able to pull her hand away from her lips. And before she could come up with anything rational, "I had no idea my being away was having this kind of effect on you…"

"That isn't it…" but it came out so meek that Marshall spoke right over her.

"I'm going to stay with you this afternoon, and then if I have to, I'll go out for a little bit tonight after dinner," dedicated to proving his worth. "I don't want you thinking I'm going to run out on you and the kids for some wayward witness. My work is here."

"Marshall, I just…" Mary was stuttering now, placing her hand on his ribcage, doing everything she could to swallow down the bile in her throat and the impulse she'd almost acted on. "I just meant that…I can't…" once upon a time, there was nothing she couldn't do. "I can't do this…do _this_ – be a mom – without you. I want you to be more than their father; I want you to be…"

But, she didn't know. She didn't know where that statement was heading, and she'd bamboozled Marshall enough for one day. He was already so inundated with his job and his responsibilities there, not to mention obvious regret about deserting Mary, though this was far from what he was doing.

And still, he was restless about getting to the bottom of her growing hysteria, "You want me to be what? Tell me. Whatever it is, I'll do it."

More than a father – a husband. That was what she wanted him to be. But, as already demonstrated, she was too much of a coward to say this out loud. This was not a conversation they should be having when the twins were more than enough to worry about.

"Just…nothing," she finally concluded lamely. "More. More something. I don't know what. Never mind. It's me who needs to be… 'more.' Not you."

But, Marshall had never liked it when she put herself down, and he abandoned his quest for the core of her weirdness and compressed her shoulder gently, jostling back and forth in hopes of sending her walking to the bedroom.

"The only thing left for you to be is a mom," he declared quietly. "And that's the only 'more' of you I want to witness in this lifetime."

XXX

**A/N: My sincere apologies if this chapter seemed disjointed or there wasn't a lot going on – I know you all want Mary and Marshall to have 'the big talk!' I am REALLY hoping that what's coming next will make up for the wait – whether it's Mary and Marshall having a discussion, or something else entirely! ;) **


	41. Chapter 41

**A/N: With regular reviewers and some catch-up reviews, I am almost to three-hundred! You guys are awesome.**

XXX

Mary chose to drop her bizarre manner because it was confounding Marshall so thoroughly, knowing nothing was going to be gained from asking stealthy, pointed questions to guide him into saying, 'I love you.' It was easier for both of them if she just reverted to pretending everything was all right, that she had too much on her mind and wasn't feeling well.

At least not feeling well was true. Though she didn't throw up anymore, she felt off-center all day, and allowed herself to be babied by Marshall after he demanded he stay home. It made him happy and it diverted his attentions from her previous peculiarities.

Still, staying at the house all day definitely meant he had to go out post-supper, as warned. Mary actually dreaded being home by herself now that she'd had him doting on her all day. She was abnormally anxious, and although she tried to chalk it up to almost spilling her guts to Marshall earlier in the day, there was another unknown feeling she couldn't shake – like there was something she'd forgotten to do.

Mary was marginally pleased, however, to find that she was not going to be entirely alone. Marshall called Stan to hang out with her while he ran a few work-related errands that their boss wasn't needed for, promising not to be gone more than an hour. The woman hadn't seen Stan in almost a week, and she associated him with the job she was so thirsty for. Their last interaction had been when she'd gone to the office and Keith had socked Marshall in the eye.

"I'm sure sorry he's been so busy, kiddo," Stan apologized right up front after Marshall had already gone, sitting in the kitchen chair that hadn't been moved since Seth's visit. "I know you're probably hearing this a lot, but a few more days should knock this thing out. It's a heavy-duty undertaking trying to get all these witnesses transferred to Delia and Alex so you guys can take leave with peace of mind."

Mary had wanted to shut him down and tell him it was okay, that she understood, but the presence of the unfamiliar name threw her off guard.

"Who's Alex?" looking skeptical and menacing from her place against the headboard, back in the bedroom at Marshall's request.

"Oh, that's Delia's partner – temporary, of course," Stan qualified. "We've made it quite clear to him that he is here on a trial basis; he's a higher-up over from ABQ PD. As soon as you and Marshall make it back, he's on the first bus back to detective work."

"What's he like?" she was enjoying mindless conversation; it kept her thoughts off her troubles and helped in stalling that jittery feeling.

Stan shrugged, folding his elbows onto his knees from where he sat and leaning his chin in his hand.

"I suppose he's all right," the man conceded. "You know how detectives are – they're interested in solving the crime. He's needed more than a few reminders that the crime has already been solved in a WITSEC case; it's about preventing the crime from happening again."

"So basically, he's an idiot," Mary inferred harshly, and Stan chuckled.

"You are like a dog marking its territory, inspector," he wagged an admonitory finger. "Not to worry; he isn't occupying your desk. We hauled out that one from the janitor's closet and he's bunking with Delia on her side of the conference room."

This went a little ways toward cheering Mary up, but she didn't like the image of her and Marshall's desks empty and deserted from the vantage point of Stan's office. What if he decided Albuquerque WITSEC wasn't for him when he didn't have 'the best there was' backing him up in the field? After Tripp, Mary wasn't sure she could lose somebody like Stan.

"You don't ever feel like packing it up and going to a bigger city?" Mary offered up her conjecture. "Say goodbye to the cacti and hit it up with the Marshals in New York or somewhere?"

"Never," Stan said so quickly it was impossible to think he was feinting. "I wouldn't sleep at night if I knew you and Marshall didn't have my back anymore," he gave a gentlemanly wink her direction, not unlike the one Marshall himself had bestowed on her that afternoon.

"Well, we don't have it _now_," Mary griped churlishly. "I'd like to see how confident you feel when I'm trying to 'race' through a door at four hundred pounds and carrying this litter of puppies," rubbing the side of her tummy, which was still tossing uncomfortably.

Stan left aside her remark about his inspector's provisional leave of absence and his features softened quite definitively. The brown of his eyes reminded her of Mark's; so warm and paternal. You knew you were safe with Stan around.

"Marshall said you haven't been feeling so hot…" this was a leap for the man, who normally tried to avoid talking about Mary's condition. "Haven't been keeping food down today."

She hunched her shoulders indifferently, "It is what it is – was bound to happen while I'm supposed to be chained to my bed. Doctors be damned, I am not gonna barf on these sheets if I can help it," twiddling absently with her shirt. "Anyway, the nausea beats the pain any day of the week."

Now his orbs darkened seriously, "I understand that trip to the hospital last Thursday was quite a scare for you. I'm sorry about that."

"You don't have to keep apologizing," Mary snapped to shun talking about how she'd felt that day for the umpteenth time. "Besides, you and Delia went to the funeral for us – that was doing your part, right?"

"Yes, I suppose…" Stan conceded, twisting his hands in his lap and looking prickly. "How many weeks do you have left again? I can't keep track."

Mary couldn't either, what with her life moving at such a snail's pace these days. She wondered what Marshall would say if she just decided to screw bed rest and go for a stroll around the neighborhood to get some fresh air. He'd blow a gasket, of course. A routine walk to the nursery to sit in a rocking chair had-had him practically in convulsions.

"I was thirty-four on Friday. They tell me thirty-seven is pretty much full-term with twins," she always reminded herself of this when trying to crawl to the end. "But, forty is standard for singles, so I don't even know. Three weeks at the bare minimum, six for the maximum."

In other words, an eternity. And, if she was going to feel like this every day, no one in her family could expect the beast not to rear its head more and more often.

"You look like you're ready to pop any day," Stan observed, which almost made Mary laugh because he'd gone for something so uncensored. "How do you even walk?"

"Not well," she compromised. "It feels like I've got Jupiter lodged between my legs."

At this, Stan definitely squirmed, a fastidious expression appearing on his otherwise sympathetic face. The look was so familiar that Mary's synched chortle wiggled loose as a genuine grin. He'd sat back in his chair, running his palms up and down the legs of the slacks he wore, like he suddenly couldn't wait to be free. And you couldn't expect Mary to leave that alone.

"You want to give this a try, chief?" poking a finger at the mountain. "See how squeamish you're feeling then. I swear, you boys are such sissies. If you saw the bras I'm putting on, you'd know just how much arrogance I'm giving up for these kids."

Stan looked outraged upon hearing this, his mouth falling open at Mary having the gall to mention underwear in front of him. She cackled at the slack-jawed appearance of his face, like she'd slapped him.

"Do not talk to me about your bras!" he hissed, like someone was listening in and boring into Mary with a kind of impersonation of his 'stern boss' face. "Marshall would kill me…"

But, Mary was still laughing, "Would you grow up? What if you meet a woman and have kids someday? You gonna act like this then?" drawing her finger all over his fidgeting body. "Although, I have to say, the thought of you meeting a woman is frightening enough in and of itself. Considering you only come up to my chin, most broads out there must be slim-pickings for you…"

"Well, aren't we feisty all of a sudden?" Stan quipped indignantly. "You don't know anything about my dating life."

"Eleanor doesn't count as a date."

"I was not seeing Eleanor!" she was implicating him more and more by the minute.

"Please!" Mary squawked derisively, throwing her head back. "Marshall _saw_ you _and_ your chicken shit folder trick!"

"What folder trick?" now he was defensive; crossing his arms over the midnight tie he was wearing underneath his jacket.

"You know the one – where you stand at the file cabinet and pretend to be looking for something just so you can talk to her," Mary squashed the ache she felt at longing for that corner of the Sunshine Building. "Oldest hoax in the book. Come on Stan. You know you can do better than that."

"Well, if that were true I'd already have a woman, wouldn't I?" he reflected somewhat morosely, which caused a stroke of shame in Mary.

"Ah, you'll snag one someday," backing off on her jibes. "What lady can resist all that bald?" a more sincere smile to show she was teasing.

"I never thought I'd say this…" Stan began with a slow shake of his head. "But, the office sure isn't the same without you spewing your venom everywhere."

Remembering how Marshall had told her as much that afternoon, Mary managed to keep the smirk present for more than two seconds and reciprocated a nod for Stan to show how she appreciated his kindness. Mary might ordinarily enjoy solitude, but it was nice to be missed sometimes – to know you were needed, one way or another.

"On that note…" she presented to evade becoming sappy. "Here's one you heard way too often when I was still at work – I've gotta pee. So, you'll need to block me off an exit route with some cones or something…" tracing a path on the carpet between Stan's chair and the bathroom door.

He did as told, still chuckling, rising from his seat and striding to the end of the bed, Mary ungracefully lifting herself from the mattress and rolling to her feet like she planet she'd claimed to have been carrying. It was a little embarrassing having Stan watch, but fortunately he directed his attentions to her amusements still littering the tables – the coloring books and games – and she shuffled off without too much decorum lost.

Once inside, Mary pondered how she hadn't even known how much she'd missed seeing Stan until he'd showed up in the flesh. He was probably the only person on earth who knew both she and Marshall equally well, who didn't have a hidden schema or one of them to which he was partial. In reality, he would be the one to discuss this whole marriage catastrophe with if she were in any mood to do so. But, after beating it to death with Brandi and Mark and trying to bring it up to Marshall, she was worn out on the subject for now. After all, telling Stan meant there was no guarantee anymore that Marshall wouldn't find out, and she knew she didn't want that.

Standing up and hitching her trusty drawstring pants around her middle, Mary found herself mulling over just how many more ways she could humiliate Stan before Marshall came back. It was a treat seeing him so red-faced and reminded her of old times; she needed that release right now.

She flushed and readjusted the elastic waistband one more time, knowing these pants were probably going to have to be replaced before pregnancy's-end. But, that was when she felt it.

It. _It_.

It was a weird sloshing sensation, like perhaps she'd stood up too fast and her insides were just catching up. But, almost immediately following the swill she felt certain she had to pee again – so intense was the awareness that she was afraid she was going to wet her pants. Hurriedly, Mary worked to undress once more, but it was too late – or so she thought.

With a pop and an untimely splatter, an entire gush of liquid poured onto the linoleum, soaking her pants and legs, shining eerily on the floor underneath the harsh yellow lights. Mary's first thought, aside from the initial alarm, was an inane one.

Uh-oh.

But, she knew what it was. There was only one thing it could be, especially when the dripping continued, unable to be stemmed or curtailed. Breathing hard and fast, Mary fastened her fingers around the edge of the counter, trying to still her hammering heart, in danger of shattering her ribcage. It wasn't so much the action that was giving her a stroke, but what it represented.

Her water had broken. And as though the page from one of Marshall's pregnancy books was permanently photographed into her mind, she saw the tiny typewritten letters following this definition.

"_Pregnant women should be ready to deliver the baby within twenty-four hours of the rupture of the amniotic sac to avoid infection." _

'It' was right. This was not only 'it.' This was everything. Like so many of Marshall's metaphors, Mary knew this was that careening moment she'd illustrated so many times. The bike was hurtling down the hill; no turning around, no stopping, no going back up.

Turning around was in the past. It was time. Thirty-four weeks, twenty, or forty there was nothing to be done at this point; nothing more she could reach for to impede the progress any longer. In twenty-four hours or less, she would be a mother.

And yet Mary just stood there. Why wasn't she panicking? When she'd gone into premature labor, she'd been inconsolable and driven by nothing but blind fear. So why now, when she knew the operation was out of her control, was she stationed so calmly? So rationally? As Marshall would be?

Placid or not, she needed to get moving. That much was obvious. What to do first? She was all wet. The bathroom was a mess. She couldn't go to the hospital sodden and soggy. Why this seemed so vastly important, she wasn't sure. More essential was that she not look as though she'd peed herself in front of Stan.

Stan. Marshall was not here. Stan was.

The kind of field day she might ordinarily have with the look on his face at this news wasn't what she'd had in mind with her relentless ridiculing.

Swallowing hard and closing her eyes, Mary braced herself before opening her mouth.

"St…Stan?!"

He had no idea what was in store for him, "Yeah?"

Talking to him from behind the closed door was pointless. Sidestepping the pond and trying not to slip, she made her way on wobbling legs to the knob and stepped forth into the bedroom once more. Stan was stationed at the end of the bed, perfectly blasé.

"What's up? You need something?"

The disciplined way she was dealing surprised even Mary, "I…I need you to call Marshall. Can you do that?"

Bewildered, Stan pulled his phone from his breast pocket, "Sure…" but he wasn't going to do it unsighted. "What for?"

Announcing this was going to be tough, but what else could she do?

"I need you to tell him that my water broke."

On any other person, this would've had an enormous effect, but not Stan, who tried very hard to conceal himself from anything pregnancy-related. Dialing slowly with his eyes still on Mary, he furrowed his brow in ambiguity.

"He'll know what that means?"

"Yes."

Baffled, Stan followed her instructions while she stood there in the half-light of the bathroom, feeling suddenly foolish and antsy now that he was staring at her. The preliminary tranquility was dying by the second, to be replaced by urgency. Though rooted to the spot, Mary's mind kicked into overdrive.

She'd be having contractions soon, wouldn't she? And labor went a lot faster once your water broke, right? She'd only been dilated two centimeters at last count; how would that work? Did they have enough diapers and clothes? She hadn't read enough about the NICU or all the treatments the babies could receive. Her son was still crammed up against her ribcage; he couldn't be delivered like that. Her daughter could be descending further and further at this very moment…

"Are you okay?" Stan proposed, presumably waiting for Marshall to answer because the phone was to his ear. "You look funny."

How _could_ she be okay? What on earth had she been doing, wasting time playing still in the bathroom? She had places to be; questions to raise. She was so uninformed and only now was it all crashing down around her – now, when it was too late.

"I just…"

She needed to change clothes. Her midsection was growing cold.

"Why don't you talk to Marshall?" Stan was halfway across the room, sure to notice her dampness, about to hand her the cell. "I'm not the best person to explain this sort of – hey!" he cut himself off at once, meaning Marshall had picked up. "Hey – yeah, no; it's me."

Silence while the chief listened to what was going on-on the inspector's end. He kept shooting Mary suspicious glances, like he was starting to realize he was out of the loop.

"No, everything's fine…"

So he thought.

"Mary just asked me to call and tell you…"

He didn't go on, throwing the woman one last look to make sure she didn't want to convey this intelligence. But, she could only nod and rotate her wrist back and forth, indicating that he should get on with it.

"She wanted you to know that…her water broke?"

The question on the end of the message almost would've been funny if not for the turbulence ahead. For such a smart man, Stan really had achieved obliviousness when it came to gestation. The neutral stance of his face proved he had no idea what was at stake.

But, the change that occurred was almost comical as well. He went from politely bemused to startled in no time flat, like someone was turning a dial further and further to the right. Mary imagined Marshall was giving him specifics as to what this meant – all the while berating himself that he had not been home when this epic moment had occurred.

She wondered if he was scared or nervous, or if all of his energies were concentrated on Mary and her well being. She tried to remember that feeling of safety she'd hoarded just ten minutes before at having Stan in the house because right now, she was fighting a definite yearning for Marshall.

"Oh…" Stan was saying somberly, suddenly very serious and severe-looking. "Oh…no…she didn't say…"

And meanwhile Mary only stood, wishing there was someone around to tell her what to do next. She seemed to be stuck.

"Yes, absolutely," Stan avowed with several nods. "Of course. You go on over. I'll take care of her."

Mary mourned for the days when she'd been able to care for herself.

"Everything's under control. We'll see you soon…"

Sure he was going to hang up; Mary was surprised when Stan lifted the phone from his lobe and offered it to her with nary a word about how she'd screened him from the mammoth occasion that this was.

"He wants to talk to you."

Mary nodded, hoping she would be able to find her voice, "O…okay…" a stammer, just as when she'd called her boss' name. Turning the cell around and wondering if her knees were going to give way at any moment, she mouthed soundlessly into the speaker before working up the courage to face her man. "Hi…"

Her voice was very high-pitched and squeaky, as though she'd swallowed a canary. Her fingers had begun to tremble so violently it was hard to hold the phone.

"Hey."

As cool and as composed as he always was. This was Marshall.

"How's my girl?"

There were very few responses to give, "All…all right."

"Good," he couldn't possibly believe her, but now wasn't the time to push. "Have you had any contractions?"

"N-no…" Mary was making a solid effort to stop her voice warbling so harshly, but it couldn't be done; every word seemed repeated because she was chirruping like this. "It…it only broke like two minutes ago…" Sudden infamy overtook her for one self-absorbed second, "I really made a mess in the bathroom…"

Something resembling a snivel eked into the open air; Mary despised that she sounded like a child who had-had an accident. She'd known even before she'd spoken that Marshall wouldn't care, but she'd said it anyway for who knew what reason.

"That's okay," he pledged gently. "Someone will get it cleaned up; it's not imperative."

Only one thing was imperative right now, and Marshall was about to get to it.

"Listen, I'm closer to the hospital than I am to the house," he explained swiftly in his trademark attack-mode. "I'm going to head over right now, and Stan's going to drive you, okay? I'll meet you guys there."

Again, juvenility was too strong to be ignored. She wanted Marshall _now_.

"I…yeah…fine…"

She was totally incoherent. She did not want to feel this way. She wanted to be happy and excited, but something was clouding that thrill-ride of emotions. It wasn't supposed to have happened like this. She needed three more weeks. Just three. That wasn't so long. She could last on bed rest for another twenty-one days. Her will power was stronger. She could protect her babies as long as she needed to.

No she couldn't. Mother Nature said that she couldn't.

"Mary…" her muzzy demeanor obviously had Marshall doubting if she realized the magnitude of this event. "You'll need to bring the bag. You know that, right?"

Yes, Mary knew. Marshall was just making sure she knew. Making sure in her disorientation that she grasped that these babies were coming, and they would not be back home until they were born.

"Yeah…" a gulp. "Yeah. I know."

"Do you know where it is?"

"In…in the closet, right?"

"Right. On the floor."

At her inquiry, Stan had left his edgy post and torn across the room to do something productive, and practically upended the closet in search of any bags, totes, sacks, or satchels that might resemble the one she'd be looking for.

"Okay. I'll find it," Mary swore. "I guess we'll see you soon."

Marshall knew that reassurances were not going to be of much help over the phone and kept it simple, "Yes. I'll see you soon."

And Mary let him go, enveloped by the profound silence that lingered behind, but for Stan's ransacking of the double doors. Out of the corner of her eye, Mary saw that he already had the tope carrier containing her changes of clothes and sleepers for the twins. Apparently, he wanted to conduct a thorough investigation before abandoning his search.

He returned at her side absurdly out of breath and holding his find.

"Was this the bag you were talking about?"

Mary managed a nod, but nothing else.

"Okay…" Stan dropped it on the bed. "Is there anything else we need to take? How about your pillow…?" he was at the headboard in the blink of an eye. "You want your own stuff, don't you?"

Another mute nod.

Stan piled this on top of the purse, "What else? Here-here; give me my phone; I'll call Jinx and Brandi…"

"No. Not…not right now," Mary choked out a few words to shut him down, and he halted at once.

"Yeah, after we get there would probably be better; you're right," so charmingly agreeable. "Is Beatrix set? Does she need food or water or anything? Your mom's gonna take care of her while you're gone right? That's what Marshall said…"

Mary did not even seem to hear his endless babble; it was white noise.

"He…he set some out for her when he left after dinner…" she was going to start crying; she knew it, and crying in front of Stan would be just dreadful. "I…I need to change; my clothes are all wet…"

The man nobly hid his shame, "You go ahead," pointing toward the bathroom. "I'll wait."

But, Stan's generous understanding did not make this easier. It made it worse, for some reason, because she was being catered to – because everybody knew it was now or never and no amount of twisting and writhing would put her back in bed for another month. The nine-month-battle to stay pregnant had just been lost, and thinking of it as such made Mary break open without bursting into tears.

"Stan, I am not ready for this…"

It was a miracle she hadn't yet shed moisture, because her voice was almost indistinguishable because it was shaking so viciously.

"I'm not ready. How can it be time already? I only lasted three lousy days since I was at the hospital on Thursday!" this was failure all by itself. "I'm not due until September, and it's only the second week of August. What is wrong with me? Why is this happening right now? I'm just not ready…"

Expressing a string of fears was slightly cathartic, as was Stan's large hand patting her hair, as he'd done in this very room after Mary had been abducted.

"This sounds like a 'ready or not' kind of thing, kiddo," he rationalized in a low voice. "Even the best laid plans don't go the way they're supposed to. You've done everything you can. The rest is up to fate."

But, Mary couldn't say this provided her any measure of hope even in spite of Stan's good intentions. Destiny had never been something she'd given herself to. After all, if fate hadn't brought her father home to a little girl who'd needed him more than life itself, how could fate deliver two healthy babies six long weeks shy of the journey's end?

But, Marshall had always said that journeys were as infinite as the heavens themselves. You could grapple for one hundred years and never reach the sun – but you'd come up with a fistful of stardust every time you dared to reach.

XXX

**A/N: So, it wasn't a love talk, but I hope I'll be forgiven for pushing that one aside momentarily in favor of the main event! Hope I sent Mary off to the hospital in style. :)**


	42. Chapter 42

**A/N: Little bit of a longer chapter coming up – hope you're prepared! ;)**

XXX

Amidst her feeling of total chaos, Mary had to concede that it was something of a blessing in disguise to have Stan with her on the expedition to the hospital. All she could think about was how uncomfortable he must be, which didn't give her time to think about all the other things wishing to invade her brain. To his credit, he did astonishingly well with masking whatever squiggly feeling he was experiencing. Loyal to her fault, he was there when she was admitted, waited while she put on a gown, and stood stoic and bold at her bedside while she endured round two of monitors and IV's.

"Stan…" Mary finally whispered shakily from where she was holding out her wrist to a nurse so they could place the needle in her vein. "You really don't have to stay. Honestly, if you want to wait outside, I won't mind…"

She minded very much, but it was the right thing to do. Stan had not signed on for this.

"It's no problem…" but she noticed he would not come too close to the bed and instead busied himself with the night sky glimmering beyond the window. "I didn't have a previous engagement, inspector."

It was to be admired that Stan was trying so valiantly, and upon hearing Mary sigh, he seemed to realize that he wasn't going to be much help so far away. Trundling on the linoleum, he walked around to the side of the bed by the door, for the nurse was occupying the area closest.

"Is there anyone you want me to call – anything I can get you?"

Mary wasn't really listening. She was trying to brace herself for the prick against her flesh, but the woman to her left was still applying the tourniquet in something of a leisurely manner. Although not afraid of needles, she was a bundle of nerves and was concerned about flinching when she got stabbed. She coped by inhaling and exhaling slowly, eyes on the furthest stretch of wall.

"Anything at all?" Stan badgered when Mary said nothing.

Knowing she should answer so he would quit asking, she shook her head without looking at him.

"All right ma'am, this should just take a minute…" the nurse was finally ready, and Stan had to have seen Mary close her eyes in recognition.

She gave a nod to show she'd heard, and it appeared her boss was going to forget his awkwardness, because she felt him place a tender hand in her lap, mashing the billowy gown she'd been forced to don.

Boosted slightly by Stan's gesture, Mary only winced when the needle penetrated her already thin skin, still bruised from the IV that had been in it three days before. She could ascertain Stan patting her beneath the covers; an occupying force, if not a verbal one.

It was only after the line had been taped that he strove for something to say, "You good?"

"Yeah…" Mary assured him breathlessly. "Just…you know…" this was becoming a little too familiar, except for the fact that she wasn't having any twinges. "Waiting for Marshall."

Stan likely expressed the same sentiment, "He'll be here."

She bobbed her head yet again because she had nothing else to do. Déjà vu was setting in very quickly; those incessantly beeping monitors gave her some kind of post-traumatic stress disorder. She could see that bimbo of a doctor in her mind's-eye, the way she'd so casually left Mary to heave and gasp for air like someone dying on a gurney. The sights and sounds were overwhelming, and she wasn't sure she was going to be able to hold it together, with or without Stan there.

"Doctor Reese is on call tonight, so she'll be down to see you shortly," the nameless nurse relayed, playing with the IV bag now that Mary was hooked up. "If you need anything else, just hit the button," motioning toward a grey stick dangling toward the floor.

"Thanks," Stan spoke up, as his inspector didn't seem in any fit state to converse.

The solitary nurse left them in peace after hearing Stan's gratitude, although her absence filled Mary with a strange sort of void. She did not know why she seemed to breathing so loudly, especially when there was no need for such a regimented sequence. She hadn't felt a thing since her water had broken, except for a general trickling she'd been told to expect after the sensation.

In every movie she'd ever seen, when the amniotic sac ruptured, contractions began in the blink of an eye. Where were they in her case? The lack of progression was somehow ominous and made her moronically nervous.

"You're um…" Stan clearly felt the need to break the palpable tension. "You seem to be hyperventilating. Is everything all right?"

Mary cast him a wide-eyed, deer-in-the-headlights sort of look, trying to discern whether he actually cared or was simply asking because it was the responsible thing to put forward. Indeed, she saw that he was still slightly unglued, shifting all around and pulling his hands in and out of his pockets.

Still, this did not mean Stan didn't care – it just meant he was working extra-hard at being supportive in spite of fearing that she was going to birth the twins onto the floor at any moment.

"I…I'm fine," Mary had gotten fairly talented at spinning falsehoods. "I…just…something is supposed to be happening…" she looked at the mountain that was her belly and tried to imagine it shrinking; an impossibility when she'd been so used to seeing it gigantic for the better part of nine months. "I…I don't even know why I'm here if nothing is happening…"

"What's supposed to be happening?" Stan inquired wearily, like he was wishing with every fiber of his being that Mary wouldn't tell him.

"I don't know…" she uttered miserably, feeling so inept it was a wonder she didn't start bawling. "Marshall's the one who knows; I'm so stupid when it comes to this stuff…"

Stan knew that a self-inflicted rebuking would only increase her hysteria, "Mary, you are not stupid," it was her battered opinion of herself that made him sit down on a nearby rolling stool. "You're just taking in a lot right now, and if you ask me you're holding up really well…"

The man's eyes would not leave the machine that printed the currently nonexistent contractions, preparing for incoming seismic activity.

"I just…I wish that Marshall…"

Her whine was repulsive, but it mattered not. Speak of the devil, there he was – looking harassed and aberrantly unkempt in his tousled hair and his wrinkled shirt, but there nonetheless and that was the only thing that was important to Mary.

The exhale of relief that swept through the room at his appearance was mutual between both Mary and Stan, but hers was accompanied by a watery, quivering smile. Though by all accounts she was traveling on a very slow road to delivery, the fear that her partner would not make it in time for the birth of his children had just been checked off her very long list of worries.

"Hi…" Mary was the one to speak first, unable to keep the joy out of her voice; she distinctly saw Stan form a grin of his own.

"Hey!" Marshall replied a little above his usual volume, probably running on adrenaline. "I got here as fast as I could…" bending down and dropping a kiss on Mary's hair. "How's she doing?" to Stan. And then to Mary without waiting for an answer, "Are you okay?"

She figured Stan could do the honors, and he obliged, "She's great. Played the hand she was dealt like a champ," standing almost at once, comforted to be relieved of his post as labor coach. "I should let you two get down to business," whatever that meant. "You want me to call your mom and Brandi now, kiddo?"

Mary knew they were going to find out soon enough, and so gave her authorization, "You might as well. Thanks for the ride chief," a sincere, bashful smile.

"Anytime," he was much more chipper now that he knew he didn't have to stay. "I'll be out in the waiting room – let me know what the plan is when you can."

"Thank-you Stan," Marshall actually seized his hand in both of his own, pumping it up and down with vigor. "In spades. I really appreciate you being the escort."

A gentlemanly wave of the boss' hand brushed this off, "My pleasure. We'll talk in a bit."

And, undoubtedly eager to be out of the fire, he exited speedily, leaving Marshall to occupy his vacated stool. The latter seemed to settle in without any trouble now that he was here, all the power he'd been putting into making it on time vanishing on the spot. Mary, too, felt some of her disquiet ebb away, but nothing could replace the building feeling of foreboding gathering in the pit of her stomach. Marshall's presence only erased so much.

So…" he started very casually, folding his hands in his lap until instructed by Mary to take one of hers. "Not exactly how we planned to spend our Monday night, huh?"

"No," she murmured absently. "I guess not." She knew going on was ridiculous in her partner's eyes, but she had to liberate herself of some of this guilt or she'd explode, "I…I didn't mean for this to happen this early; I really thought if I stayed in bed like they told me to, I'd be able to hold off a lot longer…"

Marshall placated her with a raise of his hand, "Placing blame doesn't help anybody, and you are the last person to fault in this situation." Mary wasn't so sure about that, but hastened to listen anyway, "It's Mother Nature who is in charge on this one, and if she thinks it's time then there is nothing more to be done."

Mary nodded, but contradicted the gesture, "I still feel like I could've done more."

"You always do," Marshall was used to her. "But, give yourself a break, Mare. Thirty-four weeks with twins is a milestone all by itself. You've been pregnant for eight long months, just four shy of an entire year. You've been excellent housing," patting her fingers atop the blanket. "It just looks like they're ready for something a little bigger," he concluded with a cute smile.

Mary tried to smile back, but turning her mouth up on the ends seemed to require too much work. The muscles needed were stiff and slack, like she would have to rely on a higher power to nudge them skyward. But, Marshall was encouraged by the effort and curled those fingers he'd tapped into his.

"Isn't there even a small part of you that's excited about this?" he was obviously trying to tone down his own enthusiasm for the sake of Mary, a thought that made her disappointed in herself; she didn't want to take the exhilaration of fatherhood from him. "I know you've been making yourself sick just trying to reconcile what could go wrong with Frick and Frack, but one way or another we're about to be parents. Aren't you ready?"

In some ways, Mary was ready – she'd been ready since day one. But, her fixation from the very beginning had been on their health, and she'd always operated under the mantra that the longer they stayed in, the safer they'd be. Maybe her goals were unrealistic, but she had forever been an overachiever, and if forty weeks was full-term than forty weeks was what she went after. Thirty-seven was a solid B effort. Forty was an A plus.

But, thirty-four? That was more like a C minus.

"They just…they told me thirty-seven…" why she couldn't let it go, even now, was a mystery. "Anything less isn't good enough and at thirty-three the boy's lungs weren't mature. How can we be sure they are now? And they never even tested the girl…she could even worse off than he is. If I know that I was responsible for letting them come when they aren't going to make it…"

She was babbling nonstop now as all the fears came flowing out, and Marshall was understandably disheartened. This should be a joyous time, not a terrifying one. He did not seem to possess the words needed to convince her the kids had a high chance of surviving. Instead, he wove his arm around her back from where he sat and did the best job he could.

"Come on now…" he whispered soothingly. "You seemed really calm when I came in; let's try to keep it that way."

"That was an act…" she grumbled. "For Stan, since I was afraid he'd faint from all the labor and delivery stuff."

"Taking one for the team, were you?" Marshall praised. "How far apart are your contractions then?" he hadn't bothered to look at the monitor. "You must have been able to manage fairly well on the way over…"

"I haven't had any yet," Mary informed him at once; sure this had to be an apparent anomaly. "It's creepy; I don't understand why I haven't felt a thing…"

"Well, labor doesn't always start right away when your water breaks…"

But, the pair was about to be handed all the specifics they'd need, because there was a light knock on the door and Doctor Reese came pacing inside. While not Mary's favorite person, it was still comforting to see someone she knew given that this was the real deal. She couldn't forget her revolving door of doctors from the premature labor episode and had prayed devoutly that the same thing did not happen again.

"Hello you two…" the physician initiated pleasantries, stopping short at the end of Mary's bed and perusing papers on her clipboard. "Looks like we're going to be having some babies!" rubbing her hands together, indicating she wished to get the show on the road. "How long ago did your sac rupture, Mary?"

She tried to remember, but the trip to the hospital seemed to have flown by. She wasn't even sure what time Marshall had left the house, putting Stan in his place. She looked to him for help and, fortunately, he was right on target.

"Stan called me about…seven thirty or so?" he directed his analysis at Mary. "Did you have him phone right away, or…?"

"Yeah, that's right," she did not know what she'd do without him. "So, like…seven twenty or something? Around there."

"So…water broke about an hour ago…" Doctor Reese made a note. "Give or take. And…" squinting at her page and then to the monitor for confirmation. "No contractions."

"That can't be right, can it?" Mary butted in, too nosy to sit and wait for details. "Something's wrong? From everything I've read, it says labor is supposed to begin pretty soon after your water breaks…"

"In the immediate future, yes," the other woman agreed. "But, not always right away. And actually, not having contractions bodes very well for you – for reasons beyond the obvious," a sly, mischievous grin, referring to the lack of pain.

But, Mary was far from reassured, "But, if I don't have contractions than how am I going to deliver within twenty-four hours? I only have that long, right? Because of the risk of infection?"

She did what she could to ignore the look of sheer pride in Marshall's face that she'd so clearly been listening to every pregnancy-related facet he'd ever shoved down her throat. Pretend as she might to be clueless, she'd retained some of it, and most of it on purpose.

"And what do you two need me for?" Doctor Reese quipped with a cheery grin at Mary's rundown. "It is true that giving birth naturally would indeed be difficult without dilation – and from what I can see here…" drumming her nail against the clipboard. "You are no further along now than you were last Thursday when you came in."

"She's still two centimeters?" Marshall proposed dubiously.

"Between two and three, but that's a pretty slow evolution, even after the bag of waters has broken."

"So…" Mary was starting to get annoyed; she wanted to know what was going to happen and organize herself for it. "What…what am I gonna do? Just wait around?"

"No," Doctor Reese stated simply. "Having been given your vitals and reports from the stats the nurses took, I've definitely decided which course of action poses the least amount of jeopardy to you and the babies." A pause, and then, "But, if you're not liking what you hear, feel free to let me know. There are some women who are very particular about their birth plan. For example, some feel very strongly about having a drug-free, no-intervention labor…"

"Never mind," Mary interrupted sharply, which earned her appeasing circles on her back from Marshall. "I-I don't care about any of that. I just want to do what's best for the twins."

The other woman seemingly had no arguments, "Good to know."

With that, she abandoned her handy clipboard all together, and drew herself up to her full height, visibly steeling herself to distribute what could only be described as a getaway operation. There were millions of ways to get these kids into the world, and she was about to lay down the law for how to lift the windowsill and steal off into the dark of night – cat-burglar style.

Mary felt herself go rigid in high anticipation, which only promoted Marshall's rubbing of her back.

"A natural delivery isn't looking promising at the moment," Doctor Reese began, very composed and businesslike. "On the off chance you start having contractions sometime through the night; they're not going to be consistent enough to have you giving birth within the twenty-four hour time frame."

Labor could really stretch out that long? Mary thought, impressed and shocked all at once. She'd heard as much, of course, but the possibility of going through it in the here and now was a whole other can of worms.

"Another issue is that the boy baby is still transverse or sideways, judging by the shot of the ultrasound I was given from the technician," she hadn't been present for that minor procedure, though Stan's cheeks had gone very crimson. "Baby B will almost always shift once Baby A is born, but we can't count on it. Finally…"

There was more?

"Your blood pressure still is not nearly as low as I would like it to be," this, inevitably, was probably the real deal-breaker. "The stress of labor could most definitely put you in the danger zone, and combine that with trying to rotate baby B after a twenty-four hour stretch…" she shook her head slowly. "I'm sorry Mary, but I don't like the odds."

Beleaguered did not begin to describe Mary's emotional state at hearing all this, but the worst was yet to come. She attempted to draw some strength or some clarity from Marshall and squeezed his hand lightly. He reciprocated in kind.

"Where do we go from here then?" the man decided to be her advocate, not wanting her to speak and start coming undone.

"I honestly don't know what the state of the babies' lungs are at the moment," Doctor Reese was plainspoken in continuing the facets of her plan. "You had the amniocentesis a week ago, and I know the results weren't favorable, but a lot can happen in a week. Both babies are good sizes for twins – rounding out three and a half to four pounds, I would estimate."

Some of this sounded okay, but Mary knew better than to get her hopes up. She was still waiting for the physician to lower the boom.

"So, here's what I'm thinking. If you give consent, I want to go ahead and administer an epidural, which will numb your contractions if they ever start – it'll give you a more restful night."

"Why would I need the night?" Mary was confused and starting to grow panicky again.

"I also want to give you a shot of steroids that will speed up the babies' lung development. Given that you'll need to deliver fairly soon, there's no guarantee they'll work as fast as we want them to, but it will start the process."

Steroids? Jesus.

"My plan is to keep you here in the hospital overnight to give the shots time to do their job, and I'm going to schedule you for a C-section early tomorrow morning."

Doctor Reese allowed the silence to overtake them for a moment, to give Mary and Marshall a few seconds to process and allow it all to sink in. But, the longer Mary sat there, the more plagued with doubts she became. This arrangement was hardly fool-proof. There were so many components that could go south, but what other options did she have? Laboring naturally sounded like a very hazardous decision, but this made her feel like she was throwing herself and the twins straight to the wolves. It was a 'try it and see' method, something she had never been fond of.

And a C-section? The last thing she wanted was surgery. Although she'd always known it was a very real possibility with two babies, she'd turned the aftermath over in her brain many times – gnarly staples, constant soreness, the inability to lift anything or even walk the first few days after. She was a mother who was going to need to see her babies in the NICU. How could she do that if she wasn't going to be able to go mobile?

Mary would've given anything to go back in time and do this over; to find the place and exact minute she'd caused her uterus to punt into assault-mode. Was it because she'd gotten up to visit the nursery? Too many trips to the bathroom? Too much trauma caused by Tripp or Marshall's maddening lack of, 'I love you?' What was it?

But, she couldn't go back. Forward was her only choice.

It was a moment before she realized that Marshall was speaking while simultaneously pinching her muscles between his thumb and index finger.

"What time tomorrow morning? How long will she have to rest before the surgery?"

Doctor Reese glanced at her watch, "It's close to nine. I'll book her for the OR around seven – so about ten hours, once we give her the shots and let them take effect."

Marshall turned to Mary, "What do you think?"

It was no good telling him what she was thinking. Her control in this had been renounced.

So, she adopted a kind of matter-of-fact persona and nodded, "Sounds like the best we can hope for," but her voice was timid. She tacked on a condition, "Can Marshall stay with me?"

Doctor Reese smiled, "Absolutely. I'll have a nurse find him a more comfortable chair. I'm sure it sounds sketchy right now Mary, but those steroids can work wonders if we give the drugs enough time to dissipate."

She could only nod.

"I'll come back in just a bit to answer any more questions you might have – just let me grab the anesthesiologist so we can get the epidural hooked up. You may need a second dose of it in the morning when we numb you for the C-section, but we'll see. You all set?"

'All set' was hardly what Mary was. In addition to being poked and prodded about six times over, she was going to spend a very long, pressure-filled night in the hospital, her mind full to the brim with the fact that her babies were on their way – healthy or not – and there was nothing she could do about it.

And if _becoming_ a mother was this hard, how would she fare when the twins finally arrived?

XXX

Mary did not know how on earth she was expected to sleep that night, especially when she needed it most. She could not turn her mind off. Every millisecond she came up with a new worry, a new possibility as to why she was going to end up with twins who couldn't move, suck, swallow, or breathe. It was a vicious, debilitating cycle – she went from concerned to obsessive, to feeling selfish because she cared so much about what _she'd_ be missing out on if the kids didn't make it, and not the fact that they would be denied their chance at life.

At first, she feigned nodding off so Marshall would go to sleep, because she knew he was refusing to try because she was still awake. Once she heard him snoring lightly in his chair through the grey darkness, she tossed and turned, fidgeted and rustled, for what felt like hours on end. This wasn't easy with the six-inch needle in her spine, or the crackling one in her vein, or the throbbing, vicious ache pulsating in her hip from the steroid shots.

How could this be happening now? Mary asked herself that question over and over again, and never once could she pinpoint the answer. She'd received so much encouragement before attempting to go down for the night – Stan returned to wish her well, and Jinx and Brandi arrived briefly to say that they loved her and they'd be back in the morning, Seth in their wake. Why was everyone else so confident when Mary could not be? Why did she question where others did not? Why did she treat this as the be-all, end-all – the height or downfall of her existence?

She just wanted to be a mom. More than anything, she wanted to be a mom, and though she told herself time and again how strange this was for a woman who had once claimed never to want children, it did not change her mind. To nurture and swaddle, care for and coddle, to kiss and to cry with, to send to kindergarten and college, this was everything she needed. She needed her babies. She needed Marshall's babies.

And when exhaustion sank in and Mary finally gave up the fight, her brain whirring to a stop, she was reminded – almost too forcefully – how hard she'd worked for this moment, and why she desired it so. Rational or not.

_Mary was standing in the middle of her living room. She thought it was her living room anyway. There were distinct, odd mistakes. There was no television, for one thing, and she was stationed right where the coffee table was supposed to go. The couch, normally a kind of beige, looked tinted almost yellow in the weird, murky light swirling in the atmosphere over her head. The kitchen beyond was blurred and indistinct – like she might have to walk a little closer, and only then would it take shape._

_Nonetheless, it was still her house. Her rug, her throw pillows, her front door and her hallway. Mary had-had this strange sensation before – one where she felt secure and at home, and yet not all at the same time. There was a logic she seemed to be functioning under that said she needed to be on alert, to watch for something, because she was waiting – waiting for someone special._

_So, she stood and she was patient, staring in all directions, determined not to miss this unique visitor, whoever he might be. She wondered vaguely why the room was so cloudy, why there seemed to be a mist hanging over her lids, but she paid it no mind. It wasn't so important. Nothing was really important right now, and yet everything was._

_She heard the footsteps. Not strong or sturdy, but in a gait – a leisurely, simple shuffle. They seemed to be sounding from a distant corner, perhaps toward the front door, or from a back bedroom. But, the noise grew louder from the foggy kitchen, and Mary propped her eyes on their ends, resolute in not missing this._

_This. Him._

"_I don't know why you're so worried."_

_The voice was high, even sky-scraping. It contained a pitched sweetness that radiated innocence and charm._

"_Everything's fine. You gotta stop wasting time on this stuff you can't even fix."_

_His hair was a gorgeous, sun-kissed blonde; shiny and streaked with shades of honey. His eyes were the palest, most shimmering crystalline blue. In jeans with the cuffs turned up and a white T-shirt, plain as can be, he was flawless._

_He was the boy to which every fear was now measured._

_He was Jamie._

"_Mom, I know I really scared you back then, but I wish you'd stop thinking everyone's gonna go the same way as me. It doesn't always work like that."_

_Mary found her voice, "But sometimes it does."_

"_Well yeah, sometimes."_

_He couldn't have been more than seven or eight, and yet there was wisdom in his face of a man beyond his years._

"_But, do you really wanna spend your whole life thinking you're gonna be as disappointed or feel as cheated as you did when I didn't make it?"_

_His timbre seemed to echo, and every word came in a light, breezy tone – like what he was saying could not have been clearer or more blatantly obvious._

"_You aren't here," Mary whispered in anguish. "If you were, you'd know how badly I need these kids."_

"_Mom, I think you're forgetting something," Jamie gave a laugh. "If I were there, who knows if there'd even be twins to talk about?"_

_Mary was peculiarly aghast, "I didn't trade you for them."_

"_And would you trade them for me?"_

_Mary had no response, but Jamie in all his insight seemed to expect that._

"_You don't know 'cause you can't think like that," he insisted boldly, thumbs in his pockets. "You've been drowning in 'what if' for way too long. Why can't you just leave it up to me?"_

"_To you?"_

"_Look mom, I taught you a lot already, right?"_

_She looked into that perpetually young face, the face she'd created – the face she'd never see. There was something constraining about that, about wondering day in and out if every person she loved was going to fall by the wayside, as Jamie had. She had locked herself in terror for nine months and had found it impossible to move on._

"_I think I need a reminder," Mary murmured._

"_Didn't I teach you having kids wasn't so bad?"_

"_Yeah…"_

"_Didn't I teach you that dad's really a pretty good guy?"_

_A nod for Mark, "Yeah."_

"_And didn't I teach you that help is right around the corner if only you're strong enough to let it in?"_

_Third time wasn't a charm, "How?"_

_Jamie grinned his devilish smile, shaking his head and rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. Educating his mother was a treat._

"_Didn't I show you the path to Marshall?"_

_Mary bit her lip, "He doesn't love me, Jamie…"_

_And a beautiful, blissful giggle rent the air – a giggle which made those cobalt eyes vivid in their glee._

"_Mom, you really are crazy. Let me ask you something."_

"_What?"_

"_When was the last time you told me you loved me?"_

_It brought awe that only an ethereal meeting such as this could bring. She hadn't. Never. To open air, to nothing, to her belly, to the rafters – never once had she uttered those three words._

_And Jamie knew that. And he didn't mind._

"_But, it's not like I don't know how you feel, mom," he claimed with a smidgen of clout. "I've always known. How could I not? My picture's in my brother's and sister's room. I know you never let go of me. Who needs the words?"_

_Maybe Mary didn't need to bank on phrases after all. Jamie was rather convincing._

"_I'm just saying…" he sounded like he was wrapping up. "It's about time you let go. You'll be happier. And, if it makes you feel better, I can tell you the twins are gonna make it."_

_Astonishment was misted by hope, "How would you know?"_

_This elicited a scoff all too reminiscent of his mother. She wished he could come closer. She sensed he was leaving soon._

"_Please. You don't think I haven't been where they are?"_

_And where was that?_

"_I have. And, you just know. You've either gotta get out…" he jerked his thumb over his shoulder. And then a shrug, "Or go on. I had to go on. I'm sorry it made you so sad mom, but I wouldn't have belonged here…"_

"_It's not your fault…"_

"_It's not yours either. But, we know when it's time to get out, and I just jumped the gun. It's not like I'm really gone, anyway. You haven't forgotten me. I'll never forget you."_

_Mary swallowed, surprised by the fact that she couldn't seem to shed tears here._

"_So, how do you know the twins will…get out and not…" a pang. "Go on?"_

"_It's pretty hard to explain, mom. I wish I could. But, since I've taught you so much already, I hope you'll trust me another time."_

_His face was growing dimmer, eyes fading in the fog. 'Going on' meant he couldn't stay for long, and Mary wanted to reach out, to beg for one more second, because not knowing what waited on the other side was scary – with faith in Jamie or without._

"_I hope you'll learn not to worry so much, but if you can't, that's okay. I know your dad gave you lots to worry about."_

"_Take care of the twins for me, won't you bud?" Mary found herself asking. "At least until it's my turn?"_

"_It won't be long. I promise. You can do it, mom. You really can."_

"_Thanks Jamie," a whisper. "I love them. And I love you."_

_A glowing smile, "Then that's all you need."_

_And with a swish and a spin, he was gone._

XXX

**A/N: Those of you who read "Empty Arms" are familiar with the fact that Mary had a great many dreams surrounding her non-existent future with Jamie (it's how he became "Jamie" in the first place). I decided to hark back to that with a little bit of a different spin, out-of-this-world as it might have been. I hope I didn't go too far with it; I just felt like Mary needed that encouragement. **


	43. Chapter 43

**A/N: I hope fervently that this lives up to the ascent! It's been a long time coming – a lengthy chapter, but hopefully worth it!**

XXX

Mary awoke at daybreak on Tuesday morning, puffy-eyed and extraordinarily alert given the dream she'd had and the amount of time she'd been asleep. A spectacular pink tinge was filtering through the blinds on the tiny window to her right. Fine shadows slipped through the slats, striping Marshall's face from where he was zonked in the chair at her bedside. It was Albuquerque at its best; silent and still, nothing in the world but for the desert sands and the mountain peaks in the distance.

The rose hue casting its spell over the room was calming for Mary, who seemed to be hearing every beat of her heart drumming in her ribcage. It matched the pinging of the monitors in perfect syncopation.

Thump-thump-thump.

Part of her would be content staying here forever – a striking man at her beck-and-call at the merest hint of danger, consistently leashed to miraculous devices that would sound the alarm if her babies were in peril. Combine that with the peaceful hush before the morning hustle-and-bustle and the light of cherry blossoms spreading enchantment on her little corner of the world, and where else on earth could she imagine being?

Thump-thump-thump.

Today was the day. The day Mary had envisioned not for nine months, but for over a year since that fateful June afternoon when her sweet, perfect baby boy had slipped from where he had yet to appear and taught her more than she'd ever thought possible.

Thump-thump-thump.

It was a new dawn that highlighted triumph as well as failure – victory in the hands of dissatisfaction. Which would Mary be when the final hour was upon her? Could she be lifted on Marshall's shoulders, ready to sing her song of success? Or would she buckle, submerged in a pool of her own torment upon missing her children's first cries?

Thump-thump-thump.

August ninth. Mary had never really given much thought to the date. September, though her predicted time of expiration, had always been muddled and beyond her reach for a woman pregnant with twins. But, she hadn't considered what this day would signify in the future, assuming there was one. August ninth – her daughter's birthday. August ninth – her son's birthday. August ninth – the twins' birthday.

August ninth – the day she became a mother.

Thump-thump-thump.

Was it hot outside? Something unexplainable in a distant bend in Mary's mind wanted to know every waking detail of this, what might as well be her Christmas if all went as planned. Prior to last night, she had not been outdoors since the return trip from the emergency room on Thursday. She had not indexed the weather on that occasion, nor had she done as much the evening before. In any case, it had been nighttime when she'd climbed into Stan's car and so it was doubtful she'd have gotten a good indication of the temperature. It was probably roasting; New Mexico summers often tipped into the mid-nineties, if not higher. If Mary strained her eyes hard enough, she could see the heat waves vibrating off the Sandia Mountains beyond, like tremors in an earthquake – ripples in a pond.

Thump-thump-thump.

It was six fifteen. She'd spotted the standard looking digital clock posted to the left of her bed. Someone would be coming in soon, wouldn't they? Mary was seized with the sudden desire to wake Marshall. After all, her heart was soon going to burst clean out of her chest. Maybe when that happened, her nerves would stop jangling, threatening heart attack and stroke all in the same moment.

Thump-thump-thump.

And on and on Mary thumped as the morning dwindled before her very eyes. It was as though she watched the events from a spectator view, seeing Marshall and every doctor and nurse through a transparent film. She was living outside herself, appearing calm to all those who assisted, when inside she was certain she was going to crack clean in two. Each word meant to either comfort or inform sparked new dread – new prospects. It was endless.

"We're gonna up your dosage on the epidural and give you the spinal block."

What if they didn't work? What if she could feel every searing slice they were going to make into her abdomen? What if she bled to death because she'd been poked a hundred times already?

"Marshall's gonna go with us so we can find him some scrubs. We'll send him right back."

What if Marshall did not come right back? What if Mary was left all alone, helpless and frantic because Marshall got lost between the changing room and the operating room? What if she mistook some random man for Marshall because she didn't recognize him behind a surgical mask?

"Drink this – it'll neutralize your stomach acids."

What if she threw up during the procedure? What if she fainted because she could not get a hold of her unstoppably mounting fright? What if she missed her children being born because she was in such a tailspin?

What if – what if – what if.

"_You've been drowning in 'what if' for way too long."_

And suddenly, the whirling dervish roller coaster of qualms was brought to a screeching halt when Mary found herself flat on her back brightened only by the large fluorescent bulbs blinding her from their slots in the ceiling. The warm hush of her hospital room was gone, and a curtain almost bluer than Marshall's eyes was separating her from the emergence of her children.

Her twins. Her kids. Her son and daughter. Her babies.

And Marshall – he was there too. And Mary suddenly realized, with help from Jamie, that making it this far – thirty-four long weeks – was an accomplishment. It was skillful execution. She'd harbored her children eight punishing, challenging, life-changing, rewarding months. She'd spent enough time dwelling over every ache and pain she'd endured all in their name. She did not want to remember this moment as a bundle of anxiety. She wanted to be thrilled.

And, risks be damned, she was going to do everything in her power to make sure that she was.

"All right Mary…"

That was Doctor Reese's voice. Given the hole she had fallen into, this scent of familiarity was something to cling to.

"Just try to relax. Breathe regular. We're gonna get this underway."

Mary ascertained that she was listening a lot more attentively. The inability to see what was going on behind the partition meant she wanted to catch every word, every sound; every gesture there was to hear. She would be the ears. Marshall would have to be her eyes.

"You ready?" Marshall's orbs crinkled above his mask; Mary could tell he was smiling.

"Yeah…" she nodded, though it wasn't easy because she was so horizontal to the table. "Can I have your hand?"

"Of course," she felt him groping beneath the blanket that was covering her and he eventually pulled her fingers to rest between their bodies. "What was I thinking?"

For the first time since she'd woken up, Mary was feeling herself drift slowly back to the ground, though she still hovered inanimately without touching down. It was not likely that would happen until she was sure the twins had landed safe and sound. These people could only ask for so much.

All the aspects of preparation that she'd missed while clamped in her trance suddenly registered in her conscious mind. She was wearing a hairnet and there were oxygen tubes tickling her nose. The epidural and spinal block meant she could not feel the entire lower half of her body, a bizarre sensation to say the least.

"Is my mom here?" Mary asked to keep her mind occupied, though it was highly likely Marshall had already given her this information while she'd been in such a stupor.

But, he was patient and kind, "Yes. When I came back from putting this lovely outfit on…" drawing a hand up and down his lean frame and bowing his head. "I stopped to tell her and Brandi that all systems were go and that you were doing great."

This was a lie, but Mary didn't care. She supposed that, to Marshall, mute did look pretty 'great' compared to her usual madness, especially on a day such as this.

"She sends her love – her and Brandi. My dad's with them; so are Stan and Peter."

"Stan's here?" Mary couldn't help being a little surprised. "It's a Tuesday morning. Delia's going to have her hands full."

She felt Marshall compress her hand tenderly, "Even Stan, childbirth-aversion and all, knows that some things are more important than work."

Mary accepted this for what it was; unusually touched about the crowd she had waiting in the wings for when this episode was finally over – good, bad, or indifferent.

The quiet that flooded the space after Marshall's laundry list was menacing in its own way. The ball lights over Mary's head reflected the silver flashes going off on the other end of the room. Clinking and murmurings accompanied the sight, and she abruptly decided she wanted to cover this up. It was over-stimulating.

"What are they doing?" she whispered.

Even fearful, she had to be in the know. It was her survival skills kicking in.

"They're just making incisions," Marshall relayed calmly. "Going through the routine."

"Is there blood?"

"Yes," he was also frank. "But, it's pretty hard to have surgery without that," knowing Mary couldn't see him grinning, he winked good-naturedly.

A new thought occurred to her, "You don't have to look if you don't want to. If it bothers you…"

"No," Marshall insisted, and she could tell he was being truthful, not noble. "I don't mind. I'm used to a little gore."

The exchange ended there, giving way for Mary's stress to swell once more. She did not like the silence. It provided too much emptiness for her to conjure up all the horrifying possibilities just seconds away. With a deliberate jerk, she forced herself back to whatever level of positivity she could muster.

That. She could talk about that.

"I…I'm really…" her throat was dry; nobody had let her drink anything in the hour leading into operation. "I'm really…trying to…to…" it didn't sound like she was trying to do much of anything, but she was determined to finish. "To not…to not go crazy…"

Marshall had to commend this endeavor, "I can tell."

He might be making that up but, once again, Mary didn't care.

"In all honesty, I was a little unsettled that you were so composed upon waking up this morning. It's not really like you when it comes to the kids, and given what today is marking…" his voice tapered away momentarily. "But, I am pleased as punch nonetheless. You should be keyed up, though nerves are perfectly understandable as well."

Despite wanting to feel honored by Marshall's compliment, Mary's focus had been drawn elsewhere without her consent. A distinct tugging sensation was taking place around her midsection, or where she imagined her midsection might be if she could feel the area. It was as though whoever was searching for the babies was shifting her insides, pulling and towing them several different directions, and her entrails seemed to be reluctant to part with her stomach lining.

"What…what is that…?" Mary managed in a constricted voice, battling still more fiercely to keep cool. "Can…can you see what they're doing?"

Before Marshall could answer, a nameless, faceless individual behind the big blue curtain gave the diagnosis.

"We're just moving things around a bit Mary!" it sounded like Doctor Reese again, but she couldn't be sure. "Nothing to worry about; the pressure is totally normal."

Marshall left this aside, "Are you doing all right?" he wanted the verdict from the patient herself, tightening his grip on her fingers.

"Yeah…" Mary didn't want to make him fret. "Yeah. I just wasn't sure how it would feel…"

"I don't think it'll be much longer," Marshall passed on swimmingly. "C-sections do not tend to continue over any extended period of time."

She decided to nod another time, but was increasing in apprehension knowing she was running out of things to say. Try as she might to show herself as a wholly serene and sane expectant mother, it was becoming apparent with each passing minute that this might be something of which she was incompetent. Mary had wanted so much to do as Jamie had asked of her. Even though she did not usually put much stock in dreams, this one had been a little too convenient to ignore.

The misgivings set in fast once she allowed them to enter – a foolish, imprudent mistake that she wished she could've been able to head-off. The lights were suddenly too bright; the tinkling from the other side too loud. Why were all the nurses talking when they were supposed to be paying attention to her babies? They couldn't be ready to tend to them if they were just gabbing away. Her twins deserved the best and nothing but.

It wasn't time. She wasn't ready. Not now. Not ever.

"M-Marshall…"

And Mary was quavering; she was sinking. It was amazing how rapidly daunting premonitions could infect one's fragile psyche when you were defenseless enough to allow them admittance.

But, her partner was right there. He heard the escalating panic, and he wasn't going to let Mary go down without a fight.

"What's wrong?" he even bent his knees to be closer to her face.

The awe-inspiring colors and glare, almost comfortingly realistic minutes before, were now harsh and brazen. Too much. Too much too fast.

"Mary, what's wrong?"

"I'm scared…" her eyes were stinging.

"I know, but you're almost there; you're doing great…"

"I'm really-really scared…" her interim unyielding grip on reason had just crashed with a clatter, with no explanation as to why.

Marshall was not going to let this happen. He was not going to let her lose her marbles. Whatever dismay she had, he was going to commit himself, however briefly, to vanquishing it once and for all. He had given it far too long to fester – now was the time to shut it out for good.

"I'm really-really scared…" she was repeating herself, tears welling like ponds in her broad green eyes. "I wanted to be happy, but I can't unless-unless…"

"Mare, I'm right here; everything's going exactly like it's supposed to…" a quick glance to the far end of the curtain.

He could've sworn he saw a flash of skin, but he quickly buried the leap in his heart, and whipped back around to face Mary.

"Please try to hold on," Marshall had never sounded so begging. "You've waited so long for this moment; you don't want to remember it like this…"

"But, I just…"

A shout from behind the blue had Marshall springing back to his feet and wrenching hard and fast on Mary's hand, while the last of her sentence was chased right out of her. Had Marshall seen what he thought he had? Had it not been a trick of the light? A mere illusion?

Or had it been…?

"Okay…" Doctor Reese was too neutral for this to be ideal, but Marshall refused to think negatively, feeling Mary's nails digging into his palm. "Baby A is out…I'm handing her over to a nurse…" she knew Mary would want everything outlined in painstaking detail. "She'll examine her while I extract Baby B; sit tight, Mary…"

Mary herself felt only one thing, and it was not favorable – it was agony. Where was the thrill of the reveal? Where was the excitement? Her daughter was over there, flailing and powerless and Mary could not see or hear a thing. Sit tight?

How?!

Her chest was heaving up and down so fast that her breaths began to echo in the room; she was already crying before she rattled off a string of demands at Marshall who was probably so snowed under he did not know where to look or what to do first.

"Where is she? Marshall, where is she? Why isn't she crying? I can't hear her; I can't hear her. She's supposed to cry. Can you see her? Can you see her? Marshall…"

Overwhelmed by Mary's overflow of tears and distress, Marshall did what he could, but that was nothing.

"I can't see her yet…"

Why hadn't Doctor Reese held her up so he could've had a look?

"Why? Why not?! What did they do with her?!"

"I'm sure they're just making sure she's okay…"

This was terrible. Mary knew she was going to start screaming any second. How could they do this to her? Where was her child? Where was her little girl?

"Go over there and find out where she is!" the heat was taken from this order by the sheer misery in Mary's bawling.

Marshall would've thrown himself on her in comfort if not for knowing she needed him to see more than she needed his consoling.

"I can't go over Mary; I can see somebody looking at her…" It was time to consult the doctor, "Is she all right? Tell us something…"

But, the nurse in question, who seemed to have missed this entire calamity so she could do her job, spoke right over Marshall as though she had not a care in the world.

"Baby A…female…time of birth, 7:17 A.M.…three pounds, twelve ounces; sixteen inches long…" this was clerical; it was not concrete. But then, "Breathing well, but shallow, prepare for transport to the NICU…"

"She's breathing?" this was all Mary heard, and it was in the form of hope. "She's breathing? Is she okay?"

"They said she is; I bet she's just having trouble getting out something as big as a cry. They're taking her to the NICU to see what they can do…"

Marshall was beginning to feel himself float back onto solid earth that was a little more secure, but no sooner had he experienced even a dash of relief before Doctor Reese's voice broke into all the additional babble going on now that their daughter was being taken out of the room.

"And we've got Baby B!" she announced jubilantly. "And, I would say this one…" a miniscule pause while Marshall watched the woman fasten two hands firmly around a creature he could not yet make out. "Is going to be a little more awake than his sister."

In an instant, contrasting curiously with Mary's terrified whimpers, a shrieking, wailing cry streamed like a beacon through their otherwise dank little room. Not thinking about the fact that Mary could not see anything, Marshall laughed in nothing but pure happiness as he saw his son held high in the air, his tiny mouth a perfect O as he announced himself into the world – bold, loud, and clear.

Before Marshall could turn to his indubitably hysterical woman, an identical – if much quieter – howl accompanied the first. It seemed their baby girl was determined to catch up with her brother, and while she sounded more like a kitten, it was no secret that she was not about to be left behind.

Euphoria seemed to sweep on wings through the room – nurses chuckled, Doctor Reese called out a hearty congratulations, and Marshall swiveled back around to face Mary, not even able to fathom the kind of suffering she was in knowing everyone else was caring for her babies while she was not.

She was indeed still weeping uncontrollably, but this gave Marshall the opportunity to bombard with good news instead of bad.

"Mary, he's here," he shot off at once, wanting more than anything for her to enjoy herself and not come apart. "He's here – he's great! Can you hear him?"

She was almost indistinguishable, "That's the boy? I can't see him; I need to see him; I need to see them both…"

"Give them a second, okay? I know it's hard…" he rubbed her chest.

"Is she crying too?"

"She is!" Marshall was fast-becoming exhilarated, but was still dejected by the torture in his partner's eyes. "She's making her way – it just took her a minute; that's all. If you listen, we can hear about our son…"

"But…but the girl wasn't even four pounds…"

"But three-twelve is still really solid for a twin…"

Amidst their dialogue, the report came through, "Baby B…male…time of birth, 7:20 A.M.…four pounds, one ounce; eighteen inches long…"

"He's bigger, did you hear?" Marshall wanted to give Mary anything to hold onto, who did not seem capable of reprieve without laying eyes on her children. "And listen to him belt it out; he's got quite a set of lungs…"

Ironic, considering he was the one who had been tested during the amnio. This did not seem to register with Mary either.

"What are they going to do with them?" her fingers were twitching so badly she was afraid she might choke someone who came too close. "Marshall, I need to hold them – one of them, either one, not both; I don't care, I just need to hold them…"

She wouldn't be picky. She wouldn't be selfish. One. One was all she needed, but if this wish went ungranted she was going to die. A complete package of hormone chaos, she was upsetting Marshall with her possessed desperation to have a twin, and have one now. She was robbing him of delight, and this alone was enough to have her bawling all over again.

"I don't know if they'll let you or not…" Marshall murmured sadly.

No. No-no-no-no-no! If someone didn't do something now, Mary was going to roar as loud as that little boy who needed his mother…

And out of nowhere came Doctor Reese.

"Mary, we're gonna have to keep the girl with us for a little bit. She's doing just fine; she's breathing all by herself, but she's small and we'd like to give her some help. If she does well in the next hour or two, we'll make sure you get a chance to see her…"

Only the tiniest bit of respite trickled in Mary's veins, but she was still wholly unsatisfied, "But…I…"

Where was her boy? Was he going with his sister? How could they leave him out when he was screaming so loudly?

And all of a sudden…

"In the meantime…"

Doctor Reese was suddenly two feet in front of her, appearing out of the abyss, and there was a swaddled bundle in her grasp.

"Say hello to your son."

In an instant, he was in Mary's arms – this pink-cheeked, gorgeous, sniffling, tiny being. Mary's son. Her son. Her boy. Her very own little boy.

And Mary dissolved, crumpled, and melted into fresh, renewed sobs – sobs of pure and wholesome joy. Glorious-glorious joy. Sobs she could not restrain, sobs that were strident and thunderous, but spoke of nothing more than ecstasy at holding her child, at seeing his flawless face looking back at hers.

"Oh my God…" the blubbering formed words, even formed a drunken smile. "Oh my God…" muddled with wetness and overwhelming bliss, it was the same thing again and again. "Oh my God…oh my God…"

Mary's eyes could not leave her little boy's. They were pasted to his skin – from his working mouth to his clumped eyelashes, to his fluttering lids; he was a miracle. He was everything – everything she'd been waiting for and more. And to think there was another one just like him right around the corner.

"Oh my God…"

Her breathless jabbering kept spewing out in only three words, but they were the best three she had. Until she heard his voice.

"I think she's okay now," Marshall joked at a passing nurse. "Mama's needed a baby for a _long_ time."

In a haze of grandeur and paradise, Mary's gaze somehow tore itself from the splendid creature bundled against her breast, and found the sparkling eyes of a man staring down at her – entirely content and fulfilled just because she – not he – was finally happy.

And in the basket of hormones that she so obviously was, Mary spoke not with her brain but with her heart – with spontaneity and not with conscious deliberation. For, how could she stay quiet? How could she let this moment go by when, as she stared at her son so long awaited for, and stared into the face of Marshall, could she possibly hold in what had been threatening to surge forth for ten wonderful years?

"Mary, he's gorgeous…"

And it came in an impulsive rush of tears, "I love you."

Whether she ever heard it back in a million years never even crossed Mary's mind. Marshall had given her motherhood. He'd given her a son and a daughter. He'd given her this feeling of mirthless pride no one else in the world had ever-ever instilled in her soul.

But, all he did was grin and pull down his mask to hang around his neck.

"Well, I love you too."

It was overkill and the icing on the cake. Mary's cries were blinding her in the most fantastic of ways.

Like a seven-year-old girl, "Really? You do?"

"Mary, of course I do," so earnest because he was so shocked she was questioning him, even in this breathtaking moment. "I love you more today than I ever have before, and even I did not know that was possible."

How could she compete with that? What in the world could ever top the slice of pure heaven Mary had been so fortunate to fall into, head-over-heels all the way up? It was as though she was suddenly realizing she hadn't breathed properly for eight months, the shackles that had been choking her chest had been cut loose – relief of this magnitude was the most freeing and bountiful passion she could ever have hoped to experience.

And, it didn't matter if Mary had been closing herself in for thirty-four weeks, that she might've missed a milestone or a marker here and there because she'd been overcast by paranoia. Every day, every hour, every minute, every second had been worth it just for this. To cradle her child in her arms.

Said child seemed to be settling down a little and not yelping so noisily. Mary noticed he was beginning to root around for milk, but she shushed and calmed him with a few strokes of his miniscule head. Her cheeks were soaked all the way through from her irrepressible bawling, which had yet to come to an end.

"How we doing down here, sir?" Marshall proposed, squatting and peering into his son's face, pulling the blankets back to look into his flickering eyes. "You must be Frack."

A waterlogged, equally as cheerful giggle was wrenched from Mary, concurrent with the way she was running her finger up and down the baby's cherub cheek. He was tiny, but he was whole.

"You'll see your sister soon…" Marshall promised, sounding paternal already. "I'm sure you already miss having her around."

"It looks like she had to clear the way for you and let you do all the growing," for he was a good five ounces heavier.

"You know…" Marshall uttered, and the tone of his voice was scholarly in every letter. "I read once that in some cultures, the twin who is born second is considered the oldest, because they stay behind to make sure the first baby gets out safely."

This was such a lovely, enchanting thought – that their son had docked in the background looking after his sister until the last possible moment. Kind of like the way Marshall constantly guarded and protected Mary until the bitter, red-faced end.

"Do you think she's okay?" Mary was reminded with the mention of her daughter that, in spite of the captivation provided by her son, there was another to be concerned with. "I don't want her to think I've just left her. She's all by herself – and without him too…" until this moment, Mary hadn't ever considered that babies could feel much of anything.

"The nurses in the NICU will look after her," Marshall swore, laying his hand on top of hers; the one that rested over their boy's form. "They said she's breathing just fine. I imagine Frack here will have to join her in due time."

He anticipated this disturbing Mary, and he could see the disappointment in her gaze, but right now, there was nothing to come between her and her child. Never before had he seen her in such a magnificent state of pure and blithesome wonder, punctuated by the dampness rolling down her cheeks.

"He's mine…" she whispered theatrically, sounding in complete awe. "I can't believe he's mine. I can't believe he's all right…"

"Believe it," Marshall reinforced kindly. "You cooked them good, mom. Well done."

And this earned him a bright, shiny glimpse of still more exhilaration, the corners of her lips trembling she was so inundated with liberation. Relief was indeed a powerful emotion when it finally-_finally_ set in.

"Say that again."

"Well done?" Marshall guessed.

"No," Mary's voice was soft, almost mystical. "You…you called me…"

And Marshall arched his neck to lay a long, sweet kiss in the middle of her forehead before bestowing her request.

"I am very proud of you, mom. I can only hope dad was just as proficient."

Mary dove into complimentary in a flash, "You were fantastic. I couldn't have done it without you. I can't have done…" encompassing it all. "_Any_ of it…without you."

"Ah, well…" Marshall was forever modest, poking his long finger toward his son's mouth as he grinned with glee. "I'm here 'cause I love you. All three of you."

There it was again. He could say it over and over and Mary would probably never, ever grow tired of the phrase after waiting so long to hear it.

"And…if we are too enveloped in baby-goodness I will understand…" he wasn't even speaking to her now, but to his flawless little boy. "But…if you had any suggestions beyond… 'Frack Mann'…I'd be delighted to tell them what to put on the card in the NICU."

Though Mary had avoided the subject in the last month or so, not to mention pretended that she had no monikers to offer that were especially meaningful, a sudden title burst into her mind as though she'd been harboring it all along. Like it was just waiting for acceptance whenever the moment was right. She could see it floating in her subconscious – a name of simplicity, fuss-free, devoid of frills, and connected to an image she loved.

But, Mary wanted Marshall to agree, "Do you like…what do you think about…?" She swallowed, suddenly realizing that so much crying was clogging her throat, "What do you think about Ben?"

Her partner might be aware of where this had originated from. He might not. But, the approving nod and quiet smile showed Mary that her suggestion was a keeper.

"Ben," he stated plainly, trying it on for size and looking to the child in question. "Short and sweet. You want to go for Benjamin; make him a little more official on his records?"

"Sure," Mary didn't mind; she knew she'd never call him that, but it flowed so nicely with the remainder of the name. "Benjamin Marshall Mann."

Perhaps his own eyes were welling with tears at this point; Mary couldn't entirely tell. Her similar intoxication was starting to wear off, only because she could see a team of nurses getting ready to pull Ben from her grasp. He was still very small and very early; she knew Marshall was right in that he would need time with his sister in the NICU as a precaution. She knew she'd been very lucky to hold him at all.

"I love it," Marshall declared about her using his distinction on their baby. "Would you mind if I take a crack at the girl? I know she isn't here; it might be hard to title her without seeing her face. If you'd rather wait, I totally get it…"

"No…" Mary had confidence in him, and he'd been so generous in allowing her to name the boy. "Tell me."

"Well…" he hadn't yet forgotten Mary's addiction with choosing names that held meaning, and one in particular had caught his fancy in the last few weeks. "How does Elizabeth grab you? Lots of nicknames to pull out of it – although I'm partial to Lizzie. I thought Elizabeth Shannon Mann would round out our duo nicely."

Mary was neither here nor there on his offer, and this was likely a good thing. She was more curious as to where he'd been given the idea.

"How'd you come up with Elizabeth?"

Marshall was honest, "Delia mentioned it in passing. Not for this – just in general. The way she talked about…well…someone she knew with that name…" no need for details. "I could just tell…it was all light and love and laughter. What better qualities to have in a daughter?"

And Mary could voice no complaints, "Go for it. Ben and Lizzie." In another cascade of unexpected emotion, she lost it all over again, "They have names…"

Marshall was there to stoop down beside her once more, there to console but also to rejoice as the nursing squad slipped Ben seamlessly and gently from Mary's arms to be nurtured in the nursery. She didn't seem too anxious at his departure; she was so overwhelmed to start out that Marshall doubted his woman could hold much more. While he knew she wanted her babies to stay with her, she had also been given the gift she'd been wishing on for eight months. To hold a baby – two babies, one baby, as long as it was her baby – to her chest and see him gape up at her, alive and well.

"They're here…" Marshall murmured, inches from her ear where she was still sprawled on the table. "You did it. We made it, partner."

They'd made it.

"I love you for giving them to me," Mary just couldn't say it enough.

"And I love seeing you this happy."

"Thank-you…"

"You don't have to thank me," Marshall declared. "We were in this together. Just like we always are."

And Mary, immersed in visions of basinets, hats of pink and blue, visitors to fawn and tiny hands grasping her fingers, could feel Marshall's heart beating against hers; the rhythm of life.

The rhythm of their son, wrapped on Mary's chest. The rhythm of their daughter, squeaking her first cry. The rhythm of a family – safe and whole.

Thump-thump-thump.

XXX

**A/N: So Ben and Lizzie made it! Ben's name, of course, coming from Tripp's dad (or Tripp himself,) and then Elizabeth coming from Delia's story about her sister-in-law.**

**I regret to inform you, now that we're on the other side of this, that there are only two chapters left. I admit that I feel badly about leaving it right after the babies arrive, but I had a really hard time writing toward the end of the story; I was putting everything into it, and it was starting not to feel as natural. I hope you'll forgive me and hang on for the last two chapters. :) **


	44. Chapter 44

**A/N: I am so pleased that the last chapter received such a joyous response! You guys are awesome. I worked so hard on that installment; I had a very hard time writing from bed rest onward trying to make the story stay interesting. But, I wanted the chapter where the babies were born to be well done – I hope it was!**

XXX

The joy of being a new mother did not seem to abate one iota as the morning waned on. Mary looked forward to nestling Ben and Lizzie close when the opportunity presented itself, especially Lizzie as she had not seen or held her yet. But, the comfort of knowing they were both healthy and plugging away in the NICU was enough to sustain her for now. It was incredible how just that tiny ray of hope in cradling her son could prolong her need for it again. After eight months of anguish, one would think Mary would be breaking down the door in her thirst for more.

The visitors helped too, actually, which was a new concept for her, but she doubted anything could rile her today. After Mary was stitched back together and wheeled down to her recovery room, she forced Marshall to head to the neonatal unit and make sure the twins were indeed chugging onward and upward. He came back, beaming from ear to ear, reporting that both were stable and secure.

"Ben passed his APGAR Test!" Marshall announced blissfully, grinning cheekily at the bleary-eyed but alert Mary in her hospital bed. "With flying colors! They told me he might as well have been a full-term singleton with scores like his!"

His partner was slightly bewildered, "What's an APGAR Test?"

"It measures five things – appearance, pulse, grimace response, activity and muscle tone, and respiration," ticking them off on his fingers. "They get two points apiece for each category. So, the highest you can score is a ten. Ben tallied eight!"

You'd have thought this was his own SAT score, the way Marshall was ranting. Never had Mary seen his orbs so alive with vigor and excitement. She suddenly wondered if he had been hiding his own out-of-control fears all this time and had neglected to share them.

"So, what'd he miss?" Mary inquired, still thinking that eight was a very high mark. "Just out of curiosity…"

"He only scored ones in heart rate and respiration…"

"What does that mean?" Mary was not entirely concerned, not with the obvious glee on Marshall's face.

"His heart rate was below one hundred beats per minute, but the doctors down there said he might just be a slow-starter; they have no qualms about him catching up." A pause to swallow, "And his breathing was a little bit irregular, but that's why they're both in the NICU. Twins go there almost one hundred percent of the time just because of their low birth weights and their ability to be born prematurely."

Mary knew this already and moved onto the next stat, "How did Elizabeth do on the…" she wasn't sure she had the acronym right, as she was distracted by Marshall's wildly waving hands. "You know…the APGAR thing?"

She didn't know if she could bring herself to call her 'Lizzie.' She already loved when Marshall did it; it was so endearing for what promised to be a daddy's girl. But, for Mary herself it was a little cutesy, but 'Elizabeth' was so formal. Maybe Liz would work for her.

At her question, the man's face barely sunk in, "She posted a solid six. Not bad for a girl who couldn't manage a cry for the first three minutes."

Mary didn't want to be worried, but a small part of her was, "But, is she all right? Can they do anything to bring her score up?"

"Most of its just preemie stuff, Mare. They take care of all that in the NICU."

"So…did she just get a one in everything? Not great, but good?"

"They gave her a two in coloration," Marshall boasted, grabbing hold of this fact immediately. "No blue hands and feet for _my_ daughter – she is tickled pink and _stunning_."

Mary had to smile at the bragging rights he was wielding for all to see; it was written in every line of his features. There was no prouder man in New Mexico this morning. At this last portion of the report, he finally opted to take a seat and rest his heavy head, dropping down with a sigh but never losing his grin.

Mary, of course, was as euphoric as she'd been an hour before when they'd brought her out of the operating room. Her epidural and spinal block hadn't worn off, and she was prepared for how sore she'd be when they did, but right now she was reveling in being pain-free and trapped in new-mom glory.

"You saw her then?" Mary proposed now that the taller of the two seemed to be streaking off his wave a little bit. "Lizzie? How does she look?"

She ached for a long-winded report, and Marshall didn't disappoint.

"She is _perfect_," accentuating the final word. "Considerably smaller than Ben, I do admit. You wouldn't think five ounces would make a difference, but it does. He looks very burly next to his sister."

Mary was drinking this in; soaking it up. In Marshall's merriment, he was painting a beautiful picture; one she could imagine in her mind's-eye. She as-much-as saw her babies side-by-side in little matching cubicles, hats on their heads and diapers on their bottoms, brawny Ben hiding in his foxhole, protecting his weedy sister.

"But, she's not missing anything!" and the story continued. "All ten fingers and all ten toes! Her eyes were even open – I was astonished!"

"They were?"

"Just for a minute; they're real dark. Ben seems to have decided a nap is in order now that he's been hooked up to every machine under the sun. It's been a busy morning."

A crude vision suddenly interrupted Mary's bliss, and she saw all the wires, tubes, and needles protruding from her baby's body – the sorts of things she'd had nightmares about during pregnancy. How she'd been able to delay their entrance until now, she wasn't sure, but she trusted Marshall to give her the lowdown.

"Did they stick him?" she whispered fearfully. "A lot? I…I really should be with them; they've got all sorts of stuff flowing in and out of them, and those needles…they're so fragile…"

She was not chaotic, but maternal, and Marshall understood the difference.

"Ben only has one IV line, so he only had to be jabbed once," he went on soothingly. "I'm not sure about Lizzie. But, those nurses in there work at lightning speed. Those kids will be clipped down and comfortable in no time."

"Did anybody tell you when I'll get to go down and see them?"

"As soon as they're sure their vitals are good…" Marshall glanced over his shoulder, for there had been a noise in the hall. "And they feel confident about lowering you into a wheelchair since you can't walk when you're full of meds, they'll let you go. I would guess late this afternoon."

"Then they'll have to yank my catheter out," Mary quipped with a well-timed grimace.

"Life's full of adventures today, isn't it?" he proclaimed jubilantly, spreading his arms far and wide, just as they were alerted to the fact that the sound beyond the door was not just a cart rolling past.

With the discreetness of Krakatoa erupting, Jinx led in a chain of happy-go-lucky baby-gawkers, ready to embrace – if not downright smother – the new parents. Even though Mary was typically wary of her mother and the friends that were tagging along, she didn't mind in the least today. She wanted to shout it from the rooftops, grab the nearest bullhorn or intercom and broadcast for the entire world to hear.

I'm a mom! I'm a mom! I'm a mom!

And who better than Jinx and the gang to get the word out?

"Hi sweetheart…!" she crooned in a tremor, waggling her hands in her anticipation. "You mind if we come in for a minute?" though they were already halfway through the door.

"Sure!" Marshall answered for her, as he recognized the obliging look in Mary's cooperative features. "The more the merrier!"

Following Jinx was a high-strung Brandi, a marching Seth with his chin tipped north and wearing a smug smile, a reserved but pleased Peter, and a traditionally awkward Stan, hands jammed in his pockets and trying to hide behind whoever was closest. Far more than fretting about childbirth at this point, Mary imagined their boss was feeling out of place because he wasn't technically a family member, but Mary would've been the first to correct him if he were to ask.

Jinx, the leader of the pack, was the first to reach her daughter, practically mauling her with hugs and kisses while Marshall took it in turns to shake hands with all the men.

"Congratulations darling…" the mother bestowed, wrapping Mary into a delicate hug, so as to be mindful of her sutures. "You must be so thrilled they're finally here; I was thinking about you the whole time, we all were…"

"Thanks mom," was all Mary could think of in terms of reciprocation, but this seemed to be enough for Jinx, who loosened her grip to give Brandi her chance. "Hey Squish. Fancy being here instead of taking advantage of all the back-to-school sales at Macy's?"

"Yeah-yeah…" Brandi scoffed, but she laid a kiss on her sister's hair regardless. "You hear how she talks to me?!" calling to the room at large. "They just split her open like some gutted fish and she's already insulting me!"

"That's an image we all need at ten in the morning," Peter piped up, causing a round of laughs from Seth and Stan.

Everything was hysterical. Everything was perfect. Nobody could say or do anything wrong. Mary had waited over thirty years to feel like she didn't have to have to look over her shoulder every hour, and it was exhilarating.

"Seriously though Mare," Brandi turned to a tone that was more natural. "You look really good. You'd never even know you were in surgery."

"She's right honey," Jinx fingered her hair benevolently. "You look wonderful. I've never seen you so happy."

In spite of the fact that the blonde had said almost nothing at all, it seemed apparent to everyone that she could not have been more over-the-moon if she tried. Maybe relief showed in more ways than one. Whatever it was, Mary felt certain she possessed the proverbial glow _after_ pregnancy rather than during.

Speaking of which, "Well, I'm still the size of a killer whale…" shrugging at her lumpy and misshapen form. "But other than that, I'd say you're on the mark."

"Oh, chasing after two babies?" Jinx waved a no-nonsense hand. "You'll shed the pounds in no time."

"Only there won't be much to chase for awhile," Mary conceded, surprising herself when she didn't even have to make an effort not to sound glum. "Both of the kids have still got quite a bit of growing to do."

"How are they, baby?" Jinx shot off anxiously, leaning forward and clasping her hands over her chest. "Marshall didn't have a lot of time to tell us what happened after the C-section – just that you were fine and so were they."

Taking a quick glance to the other side of the room to ensure that Marshall was still occupied with the rest of the boys, who might as well be passing around cigars, she got back to her mother's jittery proposition.

"They're great," Mary responded, and there were not enough words in the English language to describe how fantastic it felt to be able to say that and know it was true. "I got to hold the boy for a few minutes after he was born – I actually haven't seen the girl yet, but Marshall told me she's gorgeous. She's really small, so she needs a little more assistance, I guess."

"Well, when we found out you'd had them…" Brandi chimed in, placing her hand to the side of her mouth, like she was concealing a secret from the others. "We had Seth try and stake out a path to the NICU so one of us could get down there and let you know what was up. It was super funny; I felt like I was on some spy show…"

"You would not believe how tight the reigns are down there, Mary!" Jinx puffed indignantly, sticking her hands on her hips. "What sort of people won't even let a grandmother in to see her grandchildren?"

Mary wasn't even going to touch this subject; wasn't going to waste time explaining that a nurse's job was to keep babies from getting sick or infected and anybody, grandmothers among them, could carry germs right through the doors.

"Well anyway…" Brandi blathered on, ignoring Jinx just as her older sister was. "Seth bullied about six different people – and then it was really hilarious because Stan got in on it and the pair of them scared this poor orderly out of her mind," throwing her head back and laughing. "Peter was _so_ embarrassed. I think he might leave me," but it couldn't have been plainer that she was far from worried.

Now Mary was chuckling too, blessing the fact that the drugs they'd so generously fed through her line were still doing a bang-up job. She could just picture her mother and sister trying to sneak their way into the one corner of the hospital that was as tight as Fort Knox. On any other day, she would've found it horrifying – as Peter apparently had. But today, she found it preserving. They wanted to see the babies just as much as she did, and that was love at its finest.

"So, by the time we found out where it was – the NICU I mean – Seth decided I should try and be the one to get a peek, since I'm the smallest…" Brandi volunteered.

"This really is kind of 'espionage' style, Squish."

"I know, right?" but she was visibly pleased with herself. "I didn't get to see much. I could make out their little beds, but they had a lot of nurses working on them, and one of them caught me and threw me out, so that was it."

"It's okay," Mary assured her while Jinx shook her head and tutted. "Marshall went down a little bit ago. They think I'll get to visit sometime this evening."

At this, her mother abandoned her comical disapproval and put on a real smile, her red lipstick a pleasant burst of color in that gorgeous, porcelain face. Mary could suddenly picture Lizzie having the same features – brunette with china cheeks. And she'd welcome it, especially given that it wasn't so far-fetched considering Marshall's hair color.

"I'm so glad they're okay, sweetheart," she took it upon herself to stroke Mary's arm, blinking benignly into her daughter's rosy-skinned complexion. "I wanted this for you so much. After everything you went through…" there was a distinct pause where she decided against mentioning Jamie. "…You just…nobody deserves it more."

Mary, far from free of hormones, felt a knot in her throat at Jinx's unbridled compassion. Her mother had come such a long way, had become so selfless since achieving sobriety. Oddly, it made her think of Tripp and she knew now that there wouldn't be a day that went by where she didn't look at her son and remember what that young man had lost. And how Mary, at least, had been fortunate enough to gain some of it back.

"That's nice, mom…" was all she said, knowing simplest was best. "Thanks for being here."

"Oh angel, I wouldn't have missed it for the world…"

But, before the conversation could turn _too_ saccharine, it seemed others were becoming impatient waiting their turn for an opportunity to flatter the new mother. A gruff, grizzly bark called over the heads of the women – as brash and candid as ever.

"I don't know why I'm wasting my chops on this guy!" Seth bellowed, giving Marshall a light push. "Someone needs to get on him for acting like _he's_ the one who got two babies into this world kicking and screaming."

"I never said that!" Marshall defended himself, but Seth was too busy parting the Shannon ladies to listen.

"Dads take all the credit while mom does the grunt work…" he shook his head, high as a kite at the sunny flush still radiating on Mary's face.

She was waiting for him to say it, and when he arched his back, ready to peck her cheek, she knew the words could not be far away. The butterflies in her belly at this do-no-wrong interest from an older man convinced Mary her own father's presence was less-than-missed in this moment. She had two perfectly cordial gentlemen waiting right here to dote on her until the end of time – skittish but badass Stan, sarcastic and genial Seth. Both unfailingly kind in their adoration of Mary.

"How you doing, doll?" the smack on her flesh produced a grin. "Congratulations."

"Thanks…"

Stan slipped out of nowhere to join the party, offering Mary a one-armed hug that was sweet given how alien he could be with initiating contact.

"Good show, kiddo," bumping her shoulder. "So I hear, anyway."

"Your knowledge is sound on that one, chief," Mary cast a significant grin Marshall's direction. "Though, I admit I could've used some levity a few times during the cesarean – mostly provided by your mortified features."

Jinx and Brandi descended into giggles, but Stan only turned faintly red. He'd accepted his role as the resident man – fully prepared to admit that boys were wusses who could never bear childbirth, and turning a blind eye to any mentions of the process thereafter.

"Hopefully I gave you some help in that area last night," he muttered. "Listen inspector…" he turned shifty and apologetic almost at once. "I would love to stay and chat – believe me, hanging out here for the day would be much more fun than where I'm going – but I'm afraid I'm gonna have to hit the road…"

"Oh, so soon?" Jinx twittered with a rather amusing pout; she knew how Mary regarded Stan as a father-figure. "We loved having you join us, Stan; you're like one of the gang!"

Mary wasn't sure this was a 'gang' Stan desired being a part of, but he was as polite as could be with the fresh grandmother.

"Thank-you so much Jinx, and I was glad to come…" his swirling brown eyes landed briefly on Marshall at the end of the bed, and Mary saw him nod sympathetically. "But, I really have to get back to work. I wish I didn't. Just…you know…police work doesn't really stop for special occasions; most unfortunate…"

"It's fine, mom," Mary assured them both, not wanting anyone to think she was offended with the way Stan was doling out excuses. Nobody had to tell her about the responsibilities of WITSEC, especially now that the boss was two inspectors down. "Stan will come back when he gets a chance."

"Yes, absolutely," the man halted his prattle and bobbed his head. "Tonight, if I can manage it."

"Whenever," Mary chortled. "Get going. I ain't going anywhere for awhile."

Pleased to see that no one in present company was affronted, Stan gave a hospitable farewell wave, weaving his way through the throng to the door, spewing out about ten different versions of 'congratulations' before he made it to the knob and disappeared.

"You know…" Seth continued as if there hadn't even been a lapse with Stan's exit. "I'm still waiting to hear what I'm expected to call my little soldiers…"

Mary positively shone at her robust, favorite nickname still being used. Marshall also seemed eager to divulge this part of the enigma. No one in this room could have any inkling of the twins' names; he and Mary had been entirely mum on the topic, mostly due to the fact that Mary had refused to pin anything down until she knew the kids were safe.

"Yes-yes!" Jinx shrieked, fortunate there were no babies nearby, because she was reaching a pitch only dogs would be able to hear. "Those cagey nurses wouldn't tell us a damn thing!" still stuck on that.

"I still don't see why you didn't just go with Brandi and Peter and call it a day," the little sister proposed condescendingly, earning her yet another drained but loving laugh from her husband.

The air hung heavy for a moment in its expectancy, Jinx frozen like a praying statue, Brandi smirking, Seth waiting with his thumbs cornered inside his pockets. Marshall raised his eyebrows at Mary from where he was still standing in front of her feet.

"You want to do the honors?" he asked simply.

"Well…" Mary couldn't stop smiling for anything; once such a difficult, strenuous task, it was now as automatic as breathing or blinking. "I named the boy and Marshall named the girl."

"So, what are they?!" Jinx all-but screeched like some high-strung poodle.

To save her mother a stroke, Mary knew it was time to give up the ghost, "I went with Ben for the boy – Benjamin actually, but that's just so he sounds official. Benjamin Marshall."

Much swooning and mooning accompanied this announcement, though that was to be expected.

"How lovely!" Jinx chanted.

"Strapping," Seth declared.

"Sounds great," Peter cut in.

"Benji boy…" Brandi concluded with an impish simper.

Mary stopped them all at her sister's suggestion, "Call him that, and you're never baby-sitting – _ever_."

But, even her steady pointed finger could not deter the onlookers from their approval, and Mary was ready to go for round two if only they'd all quiet down, which they did in a matter of seconds. This time, however, she gestured to Marshall to allow him to show off his own contribution. Mary had-had nothing to do with the titling of their daughter.

"And, I chose Elizabeth for the girl – more commonly known as Lizzie – with a hint of her mother for good measure. Elizabeth Shannon."

And it was the same song and dance all over again, though Mary could hardly say she minded. It was inspiring, seeing them all so accepting and warm. More and more, she began to realize that even if the twins hadn't performed up to par on their first day, they would've had more support than just their neurotic mother in encouraging them to fight to the finish. For a woman who had operated under the mantra that functioning alone was a better bet, it was quite an accomplishment for her to apprehend the comfort that a circle of family and friends could bring.

"Oh; that's just beautiful…little Lizzie Shannon Mann…" Jinx was almost in tears.

"Now, that's a name for a daddy's girl," Seth imparted his authority.

"Fantastic," Peter slipped in.

"Lizzie Lou – auntie's girl to whisk off to the salon," Brandi scheming a second time.

And again, Mary lived up to her demands, "I will hire teenage boys before I enlist you to watch these kids! Count on it!"

But, she was ready to welcome the laughter that followed from every party at the 'old Mary' being back in the swing of things. She'd never known what a shadow of her former self she'd become, so plagued by paranoia and twin terrors. They were far from out of the woods, but Mary suddenly couldn't imagine why she'd ever wrung her hands so heartily over silly simpleton stipulations, like when the kids came home or what their room looked like.

Why hadn't anybody told her that the minute she laid eyes on her baby, none of that mattered so long as they were okay? This place was crawling with parents, and no one had mentioned to Mary that the only thing mothers and their children needed were each other.

"On that note…" Marshall called over the heads of the booming crowd to get their attention. "I would be happy to approve one of you to go down to the NICU and keep an eye on the kids, because I'm looking for Mary to get some rest."

"So it begins," the woman growled.

But, she couldn't argue with him. Mary's family was tolerable in small doses, but regardless of the cloud of rapture she was swimming in, she was porting a kind of jet-lag quality that was starting to settle over her bones. Though she'd been basking in the fact that she'd felt no twinges what felt like minutes prior, there were now aches and pains dribbling through her belly, which meant her medication was starting to decline. How did Marshall know?

"We'll try to come back and see you tonight," Jinx pledged, looking like she might have to restrain Brandi, who was fervent about being the one Marshall approved to go to the nursery. "I hope you'll be able to sleep for a little while before you can to visit the babies – help pass the time."

This was thoughtful of her mother to mention, and Mary didn't hesitate to call her out on it, "Yeah. Maybe you could…" it was hard to believe she was saying this, but little was likely to astound the daughter anymore. "Maybe you could drop some of those coloring books by…" as dumb as it sounded. "In…in case I have to wait around."

Jinx knew this would keep her brain busy and away from harassing nurses who could be the twins' caretakers in the first weeks of their life.

"I'd be happy to, honey. A few of the girls at the studio gave me some of their ballerina ones. They'll be so excited to hear that the babies are here; I've been telling them all about you."

Mary sent her a quick nod, bypassing their discussion for a mere moment while she waved over her head at Brandi and Peter, who were halfway out the door.

"See you later, Mare! Congrats!"

"Thanks guys!" Marshall answered so Mary could get back to her mother; he made meaningless conversation with Seth so that they could wrap it up in peace.

"Anyway mom…" she resumed. "Whatever you can find to keep me from losing my mind; that'd be great. And, you'll drop by the house and feed Beatrix later?"

"Of course, dear," Jinx replied. "And…"

Mary definitely sensed the modification in tone as she watched her mother's features mitigate inward; her evergreen eyes, so much like her child's, had an odd desire in them. The younger could only guess that Jinx was trying to figure out how to word whatever she was thinking. As Marshall and Stan were busy, Mary urged her onward.

"Mom, what? Spit it out."

But, this didn't seem to be a 'spit it out' sort of situation. Jinx had plans to be delicate – tactful, maybe even philosophical. Mary knew that was probably the case when she felt a hand on her shoulder, and when those penetrating eyes refused to leave hers.

"I just want you to know, baby…" Mary's own eyes widened as she heard the constrained timbre in her voice. "That I'm…so proud of you…"

"I knew that," the blonde interrupted, not wanting her mother to feel deficient.

"No-no…" a hand in her face. "I'm not finished. And that…" a shuddering, dramatic sigh, which bewildered Mary more than ever, until she finally heard the rest. "I know you're going to be a fantastic mother – ten times the one I was to you."

Stunned, Mary was having a hard time reconciling that Marshall and Seth were just feet away from them, neither with a clue about the kind of remorse Jinx had just drudged up in the name of her first grandchildren. She didn't know what she was supposed to say, but a whispering voice – not unlike the one that had accompanied her when she'd been entrusted to console Tripp – guided her the rest of the way.

"Oh…mom…" Mary was dispirited that Jinx felt the need to put herself down just to bring Mary up. "You did the best you could when I was young – made mistakes, but who doesn't? Remember when I told you your life was good?"

"Not terrible, but yes," the other recalled with a hint of a smile.

"Well…you make my life 'not terrible' too," many would not understand the symbolism in this statement; it might appear half-assed or even snarky, but Jinx would comprehend. "Don't think you can't do the same for Ben and Liz."

"I really want a second shot, Mary…" nearly begging, hushed and daring to dream. "You'll let me try my hand with the twins?"

She squashed the guilt she suddenly felt because Jinx had doubted this role in Ben's and Lizzie's upbringing, and gave a candid nod instead.

"Believe me. I'm gonna need someone to show Brandi the ropes."

And in Mary-speak, this was a definite 'yes.' The brunette giggled girlishly and crouched to press her lips to Mary's flesh. She didn't pull away immediately, and it was the warm whisper in her ear that showed her why.

"I love you, darling."

Knowing she hadn't completely filled her cheering quota, Mary sealed it up by angling her head ever so slightly to the left, "You're the only mom I want."

No one couldn't be satisfied with an exchange such as that, and Jinx was practically skipping on her merry way, stopping only briefly to say goodbye to Marshall, and to beam in the direction of Mary and Seth. The older man had reverted to calling her 'doll' one more time before his departure, and then he was off as well.

This left a lingering, pleasant ringing in place of all the guests. Mary could've sworn she could still hear them in the corners; gone, but not forgotten. Her family in particular had always had that effect on her, but it was a heartening feeling this time, rather than one of dread.

Marshall exhaled slowly through his mouth, releasing a snippet of fatigue, and dropped into the chair at Mary's bedside. The sun had risen fully outside their window, lighting up what promised to be a hot, sticky day in the land of cacti and soil of earth. Mary didn't know what time it was or how boiling it might already be; she seemed suspended in this seventh heaven that included only wonderful things – cute hats, high scores, silly sisters, pink-cheeked-chiefs, gloating grandparents, breathing babies…

And Marshall. Heaven always included Marshall.

"I think I'm starting to feel like someone punched staples in me…" Mary reported, readjusting herself on her pillows and experiencing a dull burn course through her middle. "Guess those drugs were too good to last…"

"You'll just have to take it slow for a few days," Marshall stroked her arm. "I hesitate to say this, but Ben and Lizzie being in the NICU might be a blessing in disguise."

"Oh?"

"Well, a lot of moms who've had cesareans have perfectly healthy babies, and they take them home within a day or two," the man explained. "It's a lot of pushing and pulling at first because they're trying to recuperate from major surgery while trying to take care of a newborn. Lifting little ones with two sets of stitches in and beyond your abdominal wall is not all fun and games."

"Your point being?" Mary remarked, wondering if rolling onto one side would cease in aggravating the flare.

"You'll be fully healed – or nearly – by the time they're ready to come home. It'll be a much easier transition for all of us. I wouldn't relish having to hoard the children from you with sermons about the dangers of hoisting a measly nine pounds."

"Eh…maybe you're right," Mary was willing to believe anything. "Must get that from your old man."

"I can't wait to see him with the kids," Marshall brought up enthusiastically. "Seeing Operation Falcon's head honcho melt into a puddle of goo at the sight of two infants will be priceless."

"Come to think of it, I'm kind of looking forward to Jinx getting her chance," she voiced upon picking up the thread about parents. "She was going on and on about wanting another opportunity – since she thinks she screwed up me and Brandi," leaving the sentiment out of the dialogue.

"Another try is beneficial to everyone," Marshall proclaimed with his standard decency, helping Mary to angle herself without even waiting for her to ask.

"Unless you're _you_. And you get it right the first time _every_ time," she groaned, already not liking the discomfort throbbing through her muscles. "I _would_ pick such a heroic goody-goody boy scout to raise my kids."

"They could be stand-up citizens like yours truly," handing her a pillow to cushion against her incisions, which she gratefully accepted. "Or they could be sarcasm-spewing civilians like their mother."

Mary grinned watching him tease her, knowing Ben and Lizzie could very well form themselves into the best of both worlds – sensitive, but feisty. Kind, but energetic. Defensive, yet serene. A little Mary and a dash of Marshall.

"Or they could be neither," the man invented on the spot, watching the wheels turn in Mary's head. "A mystery package!"

Mary didn't think so, but she knew it didn't matter.

Reaching for Marshall's hand and feeling it lace into her own, "I can't wait to find out."

XXX

**A/N: One more to go! It's pretty much fluff, but what would an ending be without sappy lovey goodness? **


	45. Chapter 45

**A/N: So, this is it, folks! Thank-you all so very much for your ongoing support. I say it ad nauseam, but you guys keep me going. I don't know where I'd be some days without your kind and flattering comments. Thanks a million.**

XXX

"She's so little…"

"Well, she'll always have a big brother to protect her."

"Little brother, you mean. Liz is three minutes older."

"Mmm…something tells me Ben will rise to the occasion."

Why had Mary been afraid of the NICU? Since that fateful December morning two weeks before Christmas when she'd read the positive pregnancy test, she had toiled endlessly over what awaited in miniature cubicles with holes only big enough to breathe. That had been before she'd known she was having twins, and still the fears presided over her like a threatening storm cloud.

But, there was nothing to fear here. It was warm and bright, occupied with tiptoeing nurses that guarded preemies as though they were Great Danes on the police force. One false move and they maimed the intruder – teeth bared and ready to strike. Mary had always pictured herself in some sinister little corner, isolated from the rest of humanity with their plump, chubby-cheeked babies, shielding her young from predators such as infection or uncontrollable choking.

In contrast, the space was large and vast. Mary and Marshall had their privacy, offset from other mothers and fathers holding vigil, but those extraneous parents made Mary feel like she was part of a club. A club of survivors. A club of warriors, brandishing shields and swords. A unit with a pact.

They'd been kind when she and Marshall had entered uncertainly. She would've thought they'd all be so focused on their struggling offspring; they wouldn't have time for new blood. Indeed, there were a few people – moms in particular – that never looked up from their children's beds. These were the ones that made Mary mourn for infants she did not know, and their mothers as well. She prayed those babies went home to their families, to sleep in their own blankets, to rock in their own chairs.

But there were others who seemed oddly joyous for the company. Their phrases were all different, but each word expressed was touching and heartfelt. Mary could hear the reverberation of some of them now, as she held her frail daughter in her arms for the very first time.

"Oh, you're the one with the twins! They look like they're doing so well!"

"Those babies are beautiful! And such fighters!"

"You sure are gonna have your hands full with those two!"

"You must feel so lucky to have two healthy babies."

And that was exactly how Mary felt. Lucky. She did not possess awareness of having just scraped by, or of dodging a bullet, but sensed luck's magical powers of creating four leaf clovers, or dropping pennies on the ground.

She was not gasping her winded reprieve, but soaking up her resounding uniqueness – the rarity and specialness of delivering Ben and Lizzie with nothing but time to halt and catch their breath. Mary looked around at babies who could not be held, who could not move their fingers or open their eyes.

And she knew that lucky, in the purest and most positive sense of the word, was what she'd be for the rest of her days.

"I was thinking something…kind of strange…" Mary spoke up amidst her racing optimism, pulling Elizabeth nearer to her chest, for she was quite tiny and feeble. "Hope you won't mind if I tell you what it is."

"Never," Marshall replied from his rocking chair beside her, gently swaying Ben back and forth on the runners. "Our lives would hardly be complete without a few idiosyncrasies imbedded in them."

"Okay, let me stop you right there…" she took care of the fact that she could not punch her finger by adding a cutting edge to her voice. "If you start saying things like 'idiosyncrasies' around our children, you can kiss my willingness to feed them at three in the morning goodbye."

He inclined his head with a soft smile and continued rocking, "Dually noted. Please continue disclosing the initiation of this oddity."

Mary's gaze traveled back to her little girl, and she was reminded again why she had felt the need to voice this specific peculiarity of her thought process. It had baffled her consistently since they'd arrived in the neo-natal unit almost an hour before, the first twenty minutes of which had been spent prepping to remove Lizzie from her incubator.

"How is it that…?" it was hard to construct an entire sentence when she had this flawless face to fawn over. "…Not even twenty-four hours ago, this one was wedged in my pelvis and that one…" a jerk of her head toward Ben. "…Was in danger of snapping my ribs into splinters and they're…" For lack of a better word, "Here. All here. Intact."

Marshall quirked his eyebrows boyishly, "Well, new-mom-wisdom and scintillating poetry aside…"

"Can it, doofus…"

"It's one of those things it's pretty tough to reconcile," he segued as though Mary had not elbowed him aside. "No matter how intellectual the human mind is, it can be boggling to grasp that a woman truly does harvest and breed something as concrete as another human being."

How could Mary have doubted that Marshall wouldn't be able to find the words that had failed her?

"That they're in the womb, and in a snap, co-existing among us mortals is one of the great mysteries and great phenomenons of life. One I will never stop marveling in."

Mary was still listening, but she was doing some marveling of her own. She had been warned upon entrance that the duration allowed for cradling Lizzie was to be exceptionally brief. There was a nurse watching them like a hawk just a few feet away; she didn't breathe as habitually as her brother, though she did manage by herself if necessary. Almost more important was that she battled ferociously at staying warm enough, which prompted Mary to huddle her still tighter against her breast.

Abandoning his oration, Marshall softened seeing the pair together, "She's something, isn't she? Before we know it, she'll be a rip-roaring little tyke driving us – and Ben here; I'm sure – completely up-the-wall. Just like her mother."

"Flattering," Mary mumbled absently, knowing she was expected to retort but was too busy falling in love with her child's face. "Really nice…"

How could someone so diminutive be so perfect? Mary adored the way she burrowed against her gown, searching for security; it seemed those nurses had been right about her low temperature. But, her flesh was so crimson it reminded her mother of cotton candy; there was a glowing hue under her pinkness that made her look like she was burning a light all the way from her closed eyes to her socked toes. She never would've thought there'd be a being small enough to wear a hat like the one Lizzie had donned, but perhaps her daughter had set a record.

"I like watching you two," Marshall chimed in, and Mary could tell by his voice that he was in a paradise of his own. "She's got that skirmishing spirit like her mama."

Mary swallowed without looking up, "I didn't think we'd have anything in common."

It wasn't something she'd ever admitted to Marshall but, deep down, she'd always felt more of a connection to Ben, even as a fetus in her uterus, purely because of Jamie. It had never felt fair that she should be partial to one child over another, but Mary was not the most feminine person. It was a gigantic relief to know that, similarities aside, she felt as natural with Elizabeth as she did with Ben.

"It's pretty early to be concerned about camaraderie," Marshall wasn't fussed, as usual. "Mother-daughter bonding will come."

It will come. It _will_. 'It will' had never sounded as miraculous as it did right now.

"You know, we have veered from the 'strange' theme, but as you asked me if you could share something offhand, I'm wondering if you would object to my bringing up an equally outlandish topic."

Mary grinned, kicking her feet into the floor to give Lizzie a little bit of tempo, for Ben seemed to be enjoying his ride on Marshall's coaster; he hadn't made a peep except to coo since he'd been lowered into daddy's clutches.

"Knock yourself out, Poindexter," she invited briskly.

"I am hoping your ongoing animation will not arouse you to skirt the issue I am leaning toward."

Mary had to give him that, "Well, if there was ever a day to try my patience, I guess it would be this one. So, what's on your mind?"

Marshall repeated his phrasing over and over in his brain before deciding to act aloud. Whatever Mary had just said, he knew that no circumstances, no matter how high-spirited, could entirely erase any sort of shame she might feel at what he was about to bring between them. But, even though she'd brought it to his attention during a time when his concentration should've been on their seconds-old children, he couldn't help fixating on it. It had seemed so foreign and fleeting, and he had to know what had prompted it.

"When you were holding Ben…" he started out slowly, not wanting to seem abrasive or as though he was conducting a test. "In the operating room…you were so…_so_ overjoyed…"

Mary wasn't sure she'd ever experience that kind of unlevel-headed, unabashed mess of pleasure that she'd been when she'd clung to her son ever again. To be so distraught, so petrified, to have thought for eight months her life would begin and end with that very moment of losing her babies, only to have one of them land smack in her lap when she needed it most was invigorating beyond recognition. She looked back upon those seconds so fondly, even this early in the game.

But, now wasn't the time to start getting sentimental. Marshall was speaking about something that was obviously bothering him.

"And…I can't tell you what a thrill it was seeing you like that…" he swallowed so forcefully Mary could see a bulge go down his throat. "And then…you said…"

Pretending he was mistaken, that he had been as caught up in the kids as she had been, was immaterial. Mary knew where he was headed, and she knew exactly what she'd said.

"You said…that you loved me."

She decided quickly that to say anything would just botch an already awkward conversation. She settled for nodding instead, glad to have Liz with her for this. It was soothing, as was the cadence she was creating with the chair.

It hurt her to see Marshall so suddenly perplexed, "And then…when I said it back…" a quick glance to Ben, to make sure he was still sleeping soundly. "You seemed so…" his face contorted another time, unable to elucidate his befuddlement. "So…so genuinely _shocked_ that I felt the same way. I mean…Mary, I feel like I know you pretty well; I don't think you were faking it. If you were, that was some acting job…"

His woman knew he could not be finished, not when his lips moved side-to-side and his eyebrows crinkled up and down, his head wagging toward the ground and finally, goggle-eyed right at her.

"Why on earth would that surprise you? Surely you know how much I love you."

Mary knew that she couldn't say anything that would legitimately explain her lack of belief in Marshall, which she was rapidly realizing was as insulting to him as she'd perceived it to be to herself. Making jokes didn't seem like a good idea either, although she had a great many up her sleeve. She'd been loopy on the meds. She'd been out-of-it because she'd been so flustered about the twins. She was blinded by the baby in her arms and hadn't been acting coherent.

All plausible, but not the truth.

Running a slow finger down Lizzie's nose, she knew the old adage wasn't kidding. The truth was all that could set you free.

"Marshall…" she sighed, pondering why she wasn't more upset that they were having this debate over babies that were not even a day old. "Do you _want_ to marry me?" He opened his mouth too fast, and Mary was ready for him, "Think about what I just asked you. I don't want the third-degree. I don't want conditions and red tape. Answer the question, plain and simple. Do you _want_ to marry me?"

Amidst the chunking ventilators and beeping monitors surrounding them, Mary fully expected to have to wait him out, but he was as swift and clean as she'd ever known him to be.

"Yes."

Unable to fathom it could really be so easy, Mary almost scoffed. She would've held up a hand in frustration if not for the fact that both were occupied holding Elizabeth.

"Then _why_ wouldn't you ask me to? Did you think I'd say no? Is that why you never tell me you love me either?"

It was his turn not to root himself in denial. They both knew he'd been making a conscious effort not to utter that dangerous three-letter-word, and excuses did not change it.

"Yes. I thought you would say no. And, when we talked about it, it was a mutual understanding between us that it was not crucial," he fiddled with Ben's blue cap while he spoke. "You are not a woman who likes to be needled when she's made up her mind. I thought if I brought it up again, I'd run the risk of ruining our whole relationship. And, frankly, I'm not uptight about it if you're not. My life will not end without a wedding or a marriage certificate…" now he was making clucking noises, because their son was fidgeting. "But…it's not as though I'm adverse…if…you know…" too many pauses. "You're feeling intrepid."

Intrepid might be going a bit far, but Mary was focused on only one element of this confession – an element that annoyed her to no end.

"Damn…" she was going to have to watch the cursing; it came so automatically. "They were right," grumbling heartily.

"Who was?"

"Mark. And my numbskull sister with her bucket of gossip. How was I supposed to know she actually knew what she was talking about now and again?"

"And what is it that they were correct about?"

Mary felt her cheeks flush, knowing Marshall was not going to be happy to hear that she'd been so agitated about this that she'd confided in her ex-husband and Brandi, of all people.

"They told me that the only reason you weren't marrying me was because you thought it was what _I_ wanted – that if I just told you how I really felt, I'd get a different answer."

A profound silence followed this now asininely obvious testimony. Mary could not believe she'd spent weeks brooding on something like this, when Mark and Brandi had dropped the truth right on her head like a giant anvil. She really did only see what she wanted to sometimes.

"Well…" Marshall was clearly going to try and make her feel better about it. "If it helps, the whole not saying 'I love you' is right up the same alley. You're pretty touchy about that sort of thing, Mare, and we've never been into labels. I didn't want to scare you off when I could say the same thing with my actions, even without the words."

"So basically…" she heaved a big sigh. "I could've avoided all this twaddle if I'd just opened my mouth and forced you to give it to me straight. Something I never used to have a problem with, by the way."

"Nah…" Marshall could always turn it around. "It's not all your fault. I shouldn't have been shy about speaking up. I could tell something was bugging you, and sometimes the little things go a long way – even something as theoretically little as saying, 'I love you.'"

Only Marshall would be able to sum it all up so succinctly and make Mary not feel like such a lame-ass pansy in the process, although Ben and Lizzie were probably helping tremendously in the self-esteem department. It was a comfortable quiet that embarked upon their nook then, Mary shifting Elizabeth so her cheek would rest against the portion of her skin that was exposed when she unsnapped her gown. The little one seemed to lap up that taste of flesh, like she'd found an oasis in the desert.

"So…" she broke the stillness, knowing there was never going to be another moment like this one, where she would feel as bold as possible throwing something so massive into the open air. "I guess we're getting married, then?"

And God bless Marshall.

"I am if you are."

Tearing her green stare from her daughter, she spared him a smirk, "Then it's settled. Glad we got that figured out."

"Me too." And, unable to help himself, "Mare…"

She was right back in her own world with Lizzie and had to be drawn out, "Hmm?"

As brazen as she'd been, "I will never, as long as I live, love a woman as much as I love you. Even if I forget to say it for the rest of my days…" though she knew he wouldn't, not now. "It will never stop being true. You made me a dad."

Mary giggled, "That's funny. That's why I finally said it to you – back there," during the C-section. "Because I couldn't get over that you'd made me mom. I guess I decided I didn't care if you said it back, because I knew it was still how I felt. I know it's stupid, but part of me is still seven inside, Marshall. I'm afraid to tell people I love them because I'm scared they're gonna run out on me," and this was solely because of James.

His brow furrowed just slightly, "Just out of interest, what was your reasoning going to be for when I packed my bags and drove away? Not that I'd ever do that."

It was impossible to consider now, even when Mary had been so absolutely certain in those lonely hours in her bedroom, but once again, she was going to have to be honest.

"That you were only with me because you felt sorry for me," she managed a shrug, signifying how ridiculous this was. "That you were too good a guy to abandon a friend going through so much disorder, but that one day you'd fold and walk out."

Only one word of this seemed to reach the man, "Sorry about what?"

"Jamie."

The name sounded stark, almost otherworldly among these living, breathing – very much alive – babies. Nothing could ever take away how alive Jamie felt in Mary's heart; that little boy with the crystal sapphires for eyes and the golden crown for hair. But, she couldn't help wondering if he would somehow go by the wayside now that she had Ben and Elizabeth to cater to for the rest of her days.

Marshall, forever the mind-reader, could guess what she was mulling over given whom she had just mentioned.

"He's only gone when you forget how much he gave you, partner. I don't surmise that will be happening any time soon," he forecasted brilliantly. "How much you love Benjamin and Lizzie does not diminish what Jamie meant to you."

Mary nodded laboriously, vowing that she was not going to start weeping over her daughter's softball-sized head. She thought about telling Marshall about the dream she'd had prior to delivery, the one that had enabled her to feign composure for the majority, if not all of, the operation. But, she decided it was one of those intensely personal fantasies, real or imagined, that she didn't wish to share with anyone. Not because she was humiliated or uncomfortable, but because Jamie had always been a slice of reassurance for her and her alone.

"And I do love them…" she publicized without bravado and sheer majesty. "You were right about that. The minute I felt that first stroke of skin with Ben…" it was sappy, but not fallacious in the least. "There was never any question."

"Ditto for me, inspector," if Marshall had-had a hat, he would've tipped it. "But, you should know, I actually held Lizzie first. For about two seconds, mind you, while they relocated her to the cubicle here. There's nothing like it in this world."

And Mary was bowled over, not by the twins this time, but by the notion that she could've ever convinced herself that words were the quintessential element to taping a bond as one. Words could so often be empty and hollow, but a well-timed gesture or splatter of compassion went miles toward influencing anyone that what they had was real.

After all, just how many people in Mary's life had not been on the receiving end of an, 'I love you' from her? Indeed, hadn't these same individuals neglected to return the favor? And she would never hesitate about her feelings for them in a second.

Seth and Stan. Mark, although there might've been a time eons ago in her youth where she'd professed some kind of infatuation. Tripp, she reflected with only a miniscule pang. Jamie, as his delusion had pointed out in her wildest dreams. Even the two newest Manns on the planet earth had spent thirty-four excruciating weeks never hearing their mother whisper through her tummy what it meant that they were budding and fostering strength before her very eyes. And were they complaining? Not in the least.

Marshall was nudging his chair across the shiny linoleum so Mary could have a look at both of her babies. This close, she could see Ben wrinkling his nose, snuffling as he found the warm spot in the crook of Marshall's elbow.

"They are truly exquisite…" he admired in a hushed voice, peering over his son to see his baby girl. "You created a pair of beauties, mama."

"I can hardly take all the credit," Mary snorted, but she too was taking the opportunity to worship Ben for the second time; far larger than Lizzie, he was already sprouting downy tufts of hair, curling around the lip of his pale sky-shaded hat. This reminded her, "If they don't have those blue eyes of yours, I may be pettily disappointed," half-joking, half-serious.

"Well, I'll take the compliment for what it is," Marshall declared. "But, being _this_ striking…take my word for it. That's _all_ you."

Mary truly did not know how her life could get any better than this. Since her days of a deadbeat dad, a mom grinding to make ends meet, a sister full of blunders, witnesses falling through the cracks, broken engagements, broken promises, and broken hearts, she'd managed to come out the other side – scarred, but still scratching.

And Jamie might have taught her perseverance, but Marshall had taught her to take that resolve and spin it into something more – something shown as, but not called, love.

"There's only one part of me I want them to be," Mary whispered, daring to slip her fingers from beneath Lizzie's back to rest her nails on Ben's cheek.

Her girl and her boy – three pounds or four, inhaling or panting, a racing pulse or strong and steady beating heart, they were flawless just the way they were. Everything she could've ever asked for and more.

"Well, one is being stingy," Marshall teased softly, migrating slowly to the left, his lips finding the lobe of her ear. "But, do tell."

The warmth of his breath was nothing if not a stimulant, "To dream…to survive…to train…and to grow."

"Well, if you were up to the challenge…"

Mary closed her eyes and smiled, feeling her heart soar at his pillowy kiss on her flesh, the coo of her son, and the squirm of her daughter below.

"I'd say our little soldiers are too."

XXX

**A/N: And that's the end! I hope you all enjoyed the journey! I have hopes of a third installment, just because I have this longing already to flesh out the twins' personalities, but have absolutely zero storyline in my head. So, I can't promise anything, but I hope to be back – either with more Ben and Lizzie, or something new.**

**As always, thank-you so much to all my reviewers: usafcmycloud, jekkah, BrittanyLS, JMS529, Sparky She-Demon, ladypuercoloco, MegManning, JJ2008, Candy, carajiggirl, Jayne Leigh, Hannanball13, Ares' Warrior Babe, Emiliana Keladry, Adelled, and Bookworm0485. Some of you reviewed every single chapter and some of you only a handful, but whether forty-five or one, I am so grateful for anything you did – even if it was just reading without reviewing! I hope you all will stick by me if I manage to come back; I always doubt my ability to return with something new. It's been awesome, IPS fans. I'll miss you (till next time!)**


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